


Chasing Silver, Chasing Gold

by kinosternon



Series: CSCG + Extras [1]
Category: Free!
Genre: Additional Warnings by Chapter, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bilingualism written semi-realistically, Bullying, Cultural Differences, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Mental Health Issues, One-Sided Attraction, Plot-necessary OCs - Freeform, Sickfic, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:21:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 39
Words: 230,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22398484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinosternon/pseuds/kinosternon
Summary: Hiyori is on his best behavior. He gets to know other people. He doesn’t make trouble, even when an old acquaintance resurfaces to try him. And he's sure to implode as quietly as possible, because the only thing worse than driving Ikuya away is dragging him down with him. Can he make the most of this last chance and learn to be a true friend to Ikuya before Ikuya gives up on him?Meanwhile, Ikuya is confused, and starting to wonder if he’s cursed. He's finally trying to get to know Hiyori for real, so why does he seem further away than ever?(Complete! Sequel stories/spin-offs will start going up in December.)
Relationships: Kirishima Ikuya & Nanase Haruka, Kirishima Ikuya & Tono Hiyori, Kirishima Ikuya/Tono Hiyori, Shigino Kisumi & Tono Hiyori, Tachibana Makoto & Tono Hiyori, Tono Hiyori & Original Character(s)
Series: CSCG + Extras [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1983772
Comments: 448
Kudos: 225





	1. False Start

**Author's Note:**

> I was a few months behind on watching Dive to the Future when it came out, but once I did this pairing hooked me like nothing has before. I've been working on this fic since then. I'm not admitting quite how much backlog I have, but it's...a lot. 
> 
> I'm starting to post, finally, in honor of Hiyori's birthday week. Aiming for Friday updates, give or take a few hours here or there. 
> 
> This first chapter's a bit of a stream-of-consciousness mess, but that's at least partly because I wanted to try following Hiyori's thought process (and timeline) through the events in episodes 7-8 of the anime. Hopefully I've made things relatively clear, and the next chapter will be even clearer!

It's one thing for Hiyori to know that he's messed up with Ikuya. He does know that. He's known it for weeks. If he's really being honest with himself, he's known it for years. 

It's something else entirely to hear Ikuya say it to someone else, maybe twenty feet away, behind a closed door, and wonder if he would've said something like that last week or not. 

He hovers his forehead in front of the door, still careful not to touch in spite of everything, and concentrates on making his breath entirely silent. 

And he listens to Ikuya explain that he never wanted Hiyori as a friend, that he was never looking for friendship. That he's been alone up till now, when he's finally opening his heart to his old friends again. 

Does it matter, whether or not that argument in the playground was any sort of last straw between them? It probably doesn't. And it's not something for Hiyori to dwell on. This whole conversation, Ikuya connecting with his old friends and realizing how poor a substitute Hiyori was, is hypothetical, as far as Hiyori's concerned. It's his fault for spying in the first place. 

This is a thing that people do, Hiyori knows: they change their stories based on what's before them in the moment. 

The story that Hiyori knew, that Ikuya told him for years in thought and action and suffering, is that Ikuya's friends betrayed him and messed him up forever. 

The story that he and Ikuya had told together was that Hiyori helped Ikuya get through the day, get over his baggage and back on his way to being the best swimmer in the world. That was the story as far as Hiyori had known it, anyway. 

But now that Ikuya's friends are back, the story's changing. They aren't a threat that's going to lead him back into the dark; they're the people that are going to pull him forward instead of propping him up. They're the real future and Hiyori was only ever a stopgap. 

Stories do that. They change. Truth is...harder. Truth probably doesn't exist, or if it does, it's such a small and quiet thing. Nobody bothers to listen. 

So, Hiyori thinks, the new story is this: Hiyori didn't hear this conversation, but he doesn't need to have heard it. He'll continue to give Ikuya space, because it's the least Ikuya deserves from him—and realistically, it's all he can give, all that's wanted from him now. 

He's going to...get a life, somehow, because Ikuya has made it abundantly clear that being his support system is no longer a position that's available. 

But he's going to make it look easy, make it not look like a big deal. Not make an issue of it, not blame Ikuya, not even blame himself. 

He isn't Ikuya. He isn't special. There's no one to support him if he makes it his story that he's been betrayed, that he'll run himself into the ground trying to catch an ideal. There's no fallback story, of true friends lost or forgotten or who've betrayed him only to be welcomed back into the fold. 

There's only Ikuya finally getting his life together, and it'd be nice if, after the disaster that their time together has been, at least one of them can have that. 

* * *

Hiyori buys a drink in the vending machine, winces at the giant thump it makes, and quietly takes it out and sits. 

The silence echoes, and he breaks into it, soft and then more confident. It's the story that comes darting into his head, dark and unhelpful and _angry_. 

It's the story of the mermaid with the knife. 

It's what she's told to do. It's what she almost does, what she tries at the behest of the sea witch, at the pleading of all her sisters. There's no one to egg Hiyori on, but that just makes it worse that he tries it on for size. 

He can't do it, though. He tries to imagine getting even, but there's no way he can think of. Ikuya hasn't even done anything wrong. 

...Well. Ikuya got broken up over his friends leaving, but ultimately that was their right. By that logic, Hiyori supposes, he could feel bitter, could get angry and avoid Ikuya. 

But honestly, even if he did there's no guarantee Ikuya would notice. And besides, there's nothing left in him but the crashing of waves, white foam dancing before his eyes.

He doesn't even jump when the door creaks open and a kind voice strikes up a conversation with him. 

It'd be nice if Ikuya's real friends could just pretend he didn't exist, but apparently they're nice people, and that means that Hiyori can't even have that distance. Of course he needs Tachibana's gaze on him, the world's kindest sandblaster, trying its best to break down the temporary defenses Hiyori has shored up around himself. Gently suggesting that he admit he isn't okay. 

He doesn't, and he won't. He's not Tachibana's problem, and they both know it. Getting rebuffed by him would sting, even though he deserves it, even though he knows Tachibana probably thinks that even a little display of sympathy would be helping. It isn't that he doesn't need it; it's that he can't afford it, either way. 

Tachibana pushes, and Hiyori pushes back, gets close enough to loom before pulling himself back. He'd made his strike, back when he thought it mattered; he won't let himself do that now, when there's no point anymore. He backs down, albeit gracelessly.

Tachibana eventually gives up trying to convert him to Nanase's cause, and invites him to the poolside instead. He's as graceful in victory as Hiyori isn't in defeat, and thankfully when he looks up a little while later, Tachibana has vanished. Thank goodness for people having better places to be. 

He holds his drink, his own tiny, contained sea, and he watches Ikuya race with Nanase. The waves in the bottle are calm; his grip is steady. Nanase's strokes are unpracticed, rough, but hold a great deal of raw power, and when the time comes for freestyle he moves through the water like he's born to it. After the race, Ikuya holds him tight and Hiyori can hear his wail even at this distance. 

Hiyori has a bottle of water and a dorm room across the campus that's his. Right now, they seem like the only things he has. 

He turns back and walks back the way he came and sits at the table and breathes, eyes pointed towards the wall. It's the room from before; he can still feel sadness in this place, echoing, splashed against the walls. Even that doesn't seem like his anymore. 

He's witnessed a miracle, he thinks. He should be grateful to see such a happy ending. 

...And then Ikuya comes back for him, and he's racing in a relay. 

Stories are changing all over the place today. Hiyori had thought he was facing the end of a story, but the story Ikuya's telling is something else. 

It's starting over. It's Ikuya grabbing for everything at once. It's having his old friends and his new friends at the same time, and Hiyori learns that regardless of whether he actually deserves it, he's apparently being dubbed the newest. 

It's better to be a new friend than an old enemy. It's another good thing, clean-cut and sharp and shining. Ikuya is letting his old failures slip away and leaving his old efforts unacknowledged, because the story is that if Ikuya ever needed them, he doesn't need them now. 

It's a sharp reminder to Hiyori that he has to keep his act together. Nobody wants to see a new acquaintance grieving. 

* * *

The relay is enough to take his mind off everything else, at least for a little while. It's new, electric, the excitement of his teammates crackling against his skin. He can't ignore them the way he normally would, after all, if they're working together. 

He stands behind Ikuya with bated breath as Ikuya's exchange approaches, knowing that no matter what Ikuya might say about having him there, he can only make part of this process easier. He stays quiet, determined not to jinx it, until Ikuya is safely in the water and barrelling forward, at which point he takes up yelling with the others—for a little while, anyway, until his own turn comes close enough. 

Then, he steps up to the starting block, the noise in his ears deafening and tiny at once. Watches the rhythm of Ikuya's strokes, the extension of his arms, and calculates the exact moment he'll touch the side. 

He's timed his take-offs and watched Ikuya's technique for years and years. Even if it's the first time he's doing those things at the same time, he's confident in his ability. 

He forces himself to look away, that last crucial moment, and launches himself into the water, all too aware of the body under him, the chin tilted upward. And then, a moment later, all he can focus on is the other body beside him, already several strokes ahead, churning the water in his own personal maelstrom of movement. 

Swimming with Nanase is a revelation, just as Tachibana had said it would be. 

Since the seeing that hug between Ikuya and Nanase, he's been numb. Since hearing that he was never Ikuya's friend to start with, he's been hurting. Really, compared to all of that, seeing Nanase like this is a mercy. 

After all, it's only when he's next to Nanase—after his last tie to Ikuya has been salvaged entirely through Ikuya's effort, in a moment when all he can focus on is keeping up and making Ikuya proud—when he feels the first literal waves of force coming off Nanase ahead of him, that he finally understands.

He can't even be jealous. He's just in awe.

What must it be like, to be that entirely honest? With yourself, your body, the water, the competition?

It's fundamentally unfair, one of the ironies of existence. Nanase is utterly and totally himself, but he has so many friends. 

Hiyori tried so hard to help one person, to keep him safe, to keep him his, to be the right person to justify a place at his side…and of course it was impossible from the very start.

He's a sad, dried-up excuse for a mermaid indeed, but Nanase is one with the water. 

It's...inspiring. 

So he does let the truth peek through, a little, later. After the congratulations of his teammates, after the noise of the meet finally ends, in honor of what he saw from Nanase in the race, and deferring to the way Ikuya's real friends talk to him and to each other...together with Ikuya in the stands, quiet and empty, he owns up to a little sliver of his past that he's always kept in the dark. He admits to that first, forgotten invitation. 

"You were a hero to him, Ikuya." 

Safely in the past tense, safely praise, safely distant. Safely something for Ikuya to think over, or leave it back in their childhood with the rest of their history, both choices equally safe and acceptable. 

It seems like the best move he can make. After all, Ikuya might expect the truth from him now, occasionally, if his real friends are going to set that standard. Hiyori will have to plan ahead and portion it out carefully, so he has something unthreatening and inoffensive ready whenever Ikuya asks. 

* * *

The honesty is just coming from all sides today, Hiyori thinks as Natsuya turns away again in favor of some good-hearted bickering with his little brother. 

"Don't talk about me like I'm luggage," indeed. Well, Natsuya had gotten his point across, at least.

It hadn't occurred to Hiyori before, in as many words anyway, that Natsuya had done a bad thing with the responsibility he'd presented to Hiyori. Hiyori had thought he wasn't worthy of staying by Ikuya's side, would short in protecting him, wasn't clever or strong or kind enough, but had he ever thought about those things as more than personal failings? He'd tried to live up to the chance he'd been given, certainly, tried to be the best he could be. 

It had been his only chance, but the story now is that it's been a weight. Has it stunted his growth? Maybe it looks like that from the outside, and maybe it has. 

For him, the story he's always told is that it was a life preserver, tossed out into the empty ocean, and one of the only things he's had to hold onto. It's the reason he's tried as hard as he has all these years. 

And yet...he's happy for Ikuya when he tells him to go spend time with his friends. That's a story, but it's a true one, and so he sticks the landing perfectly. Ikuya jogs off to find them in the setting sun without turning to look back once. 

Hiyori's still out at sea, but that's fine. He's full-grown and has long since learned how to tread water. 

* * *

He finds a perch down the stairs a little and catches his breath from nothing at all, looking up at the handful of clouds draped in the early evening sky. He contemplates his bottle—more than half-empty, now, almost ready to be discarded—and tries to hold on to the happiness, the feeling of denouement. Tries to take some of the story and fit it inside himself, to apply it to his own life and find a way to move forward, because he _needs_ to. 

Real people have other friends and other hobbies. If Ikuya asks him what he's doing sometime, maybe soon, he wants the stories he tells to be true. So Ikuya doesn't worry. So he's not a weight dragging Ikuya into the depths. So he's never, ever someone Ikuya has cut away to survive.

Real people have no trouble talking to other people. And true enough, talking to Kisumi, when he appears seemingly from nowhere, is easy. He's almost disarmingly friendly, the way Hiyori pretends to be, but if he's got this wide a circle of friends, in Kisumi's case it's probably genuine. 

It's an easy opportunity. He'd be a fool not to take it, so he gladly does. 

When was the last time he played basketball? Sometime in high school, but he doesn't remember the year. He'll make it work anyway, he's athletic and reasonably tall. It can't be that different.

He manages his farewells without fumbling too badly, for once—Kisumi really must be something—and takes his leave. Luckily, basketball won't happen tonight. Won't happen till early next week, and nothing certain in Hiyori's schedule till then. Well, except classes and swim practice, so actually he's set on structure. He'll work out the bits in between as they come. 

He needs a little bit of space and time, anyway, he decides. To process.

And if processing means getting back to his room in a daze, means sitting against the foot of his bed and letting his eyes slide unfocused and feeling time wash over him like waves, well...if no one's there to see it, then it's like it isn't happening at all.

But he's alone, and he can now start the embarrassingly, agonizingly slow process of admitting some things to himself. 

For one thing...really, they _both_ needed this. Hiyori knew his relationship with Ikuya had been souring. He knew he'd started to move from supportive to controlling, getting more and more desperate as he'd sensed Ikuya nearing the edge. Now he knows it was actually a breakthrough, his actions look so much like jealousy in hindsight.

They weren't, though. He knows it, even if now he wouldn't try to defend himself against such an accusation. Because truly, deep down, darker down, he just didn't want his friend to die.

He wanted to say to Natsuya today that Ikuya had never been a burden. But even though Ikuya's the most precious person in his life, that would have been...difficult to say, and be honest.

It wasn't Ikuya himself, never. It was the moments when Hiyori thought about what might've happened, if he'd been the tiniest bit less attentive, if he'd turned the other way at the wrong moment. It was the countless times over the years when he'd finally lost himself in the water, only to turn, heart in throat, at the sound of a wheezing breath.

He wanted Ikuya to be okay, because Ikuya okay was Ikuya amazing. But on a dime, that could turn into terror and heartbreak, and knowing that he'd let down the most important people in his world.

And that's...probably gone now. Even mixed up with everything else, it's something to be profoundly grateful for. And Ikuya is talking to him again, even though from now on that will probably happen less and less. 

Ikuya is far from the only person in his life. He's being a baby. He's not an orphan, for one thing. He has parents, even if they're still back in America.

He thinks he might call them, on a whim, but as he goes to pull out his phone he remembers that where they're living it's currently painfully early in the morning, and a weekday. Tomorrow, then, maybe. 

They can talk about the qualifiers. They'll be pleased to hear he was in a relay. He's been doing very well for himself, keeping up with his studies. His friend is doing well, too.

(They've gotten used to him speaking about Ikuya. He knows it has very little to do with them, so he tries to keep it short, but it's impossible to avoid the topic entirely. He tries to maintain a certain level of honesty with them, when he can, and Ikuya is so much of what he thinks about.)

No, he thinks, he's fine. It's nice to be reminded, drama aside, that he is fine.

The night is dark outside his window, the summer sun long gone. He's had the curtain drawn anyway. It's late. He shucks off his clothes and heaves himself onto the bed, wrapping himself in the covers. 

Really, when he thinks about it, he's received nothing but good things. With Ikuya's heart in a better place, he suspects there will be a lot fewer near-drownings. With him making more friends, there will be more people to save him if they happen.

And he has an apology, from Ikuya's brother, and relief from a duty that should never have been his. Those, at least, he's probably been owed.

Ikuya is going to be better. Hiyori, despite his terrible selfishness, wanting Ikuya close and yet tiring of the burden of him, somehow hasn't lost him.

Even Nanase and his posse, who have every right to hate him…don't seem to. Tachibana in particular seemed to understand. 

He'd be humiliated if it weren't such a relief.

He'd be relieved if it weren't so quiet in here, alone with the knowledge that if he were to message Ikuya he might disturb something more important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is inspired by Hudson Taylor's "Chasing Rubies," which is one of my favorite HiyoIku ship songs. I recommend the acoustic version if you can find it!


	2. Pick-Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hiyori finds friends in old and new places.

Most of Hiyori's fears are assuaged the next morning. It's an adjustment not to text Ikuya first thing when he gets up, and weirdly, it's harder to get out of the door on time without their scheduled breakfast. He manages it, slipping into his seat of his first class with a can of coffee in his hand before realizing he brought the wrong notebook for one of his morning classes. He makes a note to set his alarm for earlier and takes the class notes in the notebook he has.

He gets a text from Ikuya after his second class. He'd only opened his messages out of habit, and it takes him a couple of seconds to realize that this is surprising.

_Lunch?_

Well. Now that he thinks about it, it makes sense. Ikuya can hardly spend every school day on another campus, any more than the others could spend the day at Shimogami. That's room for him that they apparently aren't going to take right away.

Something in his chest loosens, and he messages Ikuya back. _Sure. 1:30, right? Since you've got class._

That's the thing about Mondays—Hiyori's class gets out 90 minutes before Ikuya's. He heads to the library like usual, but on his way to his normal study corner, he pauses.

Maybe it's everything that's happened these last few days, but throughout the day, he's lifted his head and something new strikes him, like he's never seen it before, like everything has suddenly turned strange. This time, it's how he's spent hours in the library, studying and occasionally looking through the card catalogue, but he's hardly ever perused the stacks.

So he follows the shelves down the different disciplines and feels the books whisper to him. He makes it to the literature section, international and other. There's a small selection of books in English. He picks up a book of fairytales without really thinking about it, flipping through. There's a few he doesn't know. He tucks the book under his arm, and keeps looking.

There really isn't very much. He's holding a couple of books by the time he gets to the end of the English section, and is considering looking in philosophy or something similar, but he knows he'd have better luck with fiction and a university library is going to be thin on everything but literature. So he goes over there and he looks and looks.

There's a book by Kenji Miyazawa he's never read, so he picks that up, and then guiltily weighs the stacks in his arms. How many of these will he actually get to before they're due back? He flips one open, trying to decide if he'd be okay with putting it back.

He starts reading it instead, and the familiar feeling of reality detaching itself from time starts to creep over him before he knows what he's doing.

...He checks his watch and just about jumps out of his skin. How did it get so late? Ikuya's going to be waiting for him.

He still has to check out the books he's holding. He presses his lips together tightly and gets in the line, makes a point of not fidgeting or looking impatient, bows and smiles to the person behind the counter as they check the books out for him. He doesn't start running until he's out the library doors, because really, there are other people with more pressing commitments than being late to meet an acquaintance for a standing lunch arrangement.

He gets there eventually, as he was always going to, and Ikuya is staring down at his phone screen and pouting. When he turns to Hiyori, looking annoyed, Hiyori feels a lump rise in his throat. He tries his best to laugh it off instead.

"Sorry, sorry. I got distracted."

Ikuya glances at the stack under his arm. "That's a lot of books."

"Haha, I thought I might catch up on my reading." Hiyori shrugs, shifting the books in his grasp. His arms ache a little. "I guess you could say it counts as weight-lifting, too."

Ikuya stares at him for a long moment, but then seems to accept the explanation at face value. Hiyori breathes a sigh of relief. Once was bad enough, but he'll be careful now. He won't let this happen again.

He'll be better.

* * *

The next practice comes a couple of classics and a trip to the bookstore later; the time passes faster than Hiyori was expecting. A new paperback accompanies him into his sports bag as he goes, tucked guiltily into a plastic bag and in the corner. It's not like he's going to have time to read during practice, but it's a newly reawakened childhood habit: always best to have a book with him in case he ended up somewhere with unexpected downtime.

And it's strange. He's seen Ikuya regularly, usually a couple of times a day, but the times between them are quiet and too loud all at once. Alone, Hiyori feels almost underwater, nose in a book and the world comfortably distant behind walls of glass and words; but with Ikuya he has to break the surface, has to put the same old familiar emotions on his face and simultaneously try to understand this stranger he's lived alongside for years.

Practice is worse. He's somehow lost the knowledge that pool buildings _echo._

"Kirishima! Toono!"

He turns, snapping to attention after the beginning meeting, Ikuya turning beside him. How long had he been staring at the pool, put off by all the noise?

How long has Ikuya been standing there too, eyeing the water for reasons of his own?

Before, he would have noticed, drawn Ikuya out of his own head by now. What if he's—

"Captain Hoshikawa." Ikuya turns. "Is this about relay teams?"

"Yeah," Hoshikawa says, smiling but brisk. "I hope I've convinced you two to branch out a bit. You made a strong showing this time, so the question is, where do you want to go from here?"

Hiyori frowns, eyes sliding over to Ikuya, but Ikuya is frowning harder, looking at the ground. He doesn't know what Ikuya's thinking, and he isn't sure he'd know anyway. He kicks himself for not checking ahead of time, for not thinking about this question sooner—

"What would you recommend?" Ikuya asks seriously. "I've been spreading out my focus on a variety of strokes for so long, I'm not really sure of my own strengths. I'd like to keep focusing on freestyle, but..."

Hoshikawa nods, and Hiyori very carefully keeps his face neutral. If anything, Ikuya has more of a build for breast stroke, but build isn't everything, and...

"You don't have to decide right away," Hoshikawa says. "We cobbled together that team at the last minute, though. Freestyle is the anchor either way, so it's still an option. The question is, do you want to stick with it, or do you want to cycle through some other strokes?" He turns, then, and Hiyori blinks into his unexpected gaze. "And Toono. What about you? If you're interested in continuing with freestyle, that's a factor to consider."

It's up to _him?_

Hiyori's heart jumps into his throat, and he tries to keep holding Hoshikawa's gaze squarely through blurred vision as his thoughts race. He doesn't know what Ikuya wants, what will leave their options open longest for him to decide. "Well," he says, taking every moment he can to think it out, "if I'm being honest, I'm not planning to stop practicing my crawl anytime soon, but my backstroke's fairly strong, too, so—”

"We can try a couple different things," Ikuya says, and Hiyori subsides gratefully. "Whatever ends up working for the team."

"Good," Hoshikawa says. "And speaking of which—I stepped in to fill out the relay team last time, but I think I'm going to change things up a bit. Sagae's an underclassman like the rest of you, and I think he and Terashima will match you two well."

"Sounds good," Ikuya says, and Hiyori glances over subtly. If he's nervous, he's hiding it well, looking only determined.

Hiyori can't help but wonder how this will go, can't help but stay half a step behind and to the side as Hoshikawa calls up the other two and explains the situation. Sagae—he can't remember his first name yet, but it will probably come up before he needs it, if he does—is on the quiet side and hides a bit behind Terashima, at least at first.

In the water, though, as they practice exchanges and compare strokes and Terashima starts trying to explain his particular swimming strategies without invoking his nickname, Sagae warms up to them quickly. He's quiet, but comfortable, if his teasing of Terashima is any indication. It quickly feels like they've been talking like this for weeks, since the beginning of the term.

Or at least, the other three seem that way. Hiyori does his best to keep up, and he thinks he does pretty well, even if he's still mostly following Ikuya's lead. Hopefully he'll figure out how to be more comfortable with them, or how to fake it, before it becomes a problem.

Things continue smoothly right up till the end of practice, when Terashima invites them out for a late katsudon lunch and Hiyori feels his chest constrict a bit.

"Actually, I've got a thing," he says, putting on a pained smile.

"Come on," Sagae says, "seriously? You trying to avoid us, Toono?"

The way he glances at Ikuya hints at his actual question— _Are you two still fighting?_ —and Hiyori makes himself freeze to avoid a wince. "I really do," he says, sheepish, and brings a hand stiffly to the back of his head. "I agreed to it last week, and it'd be too short notice to back out now."

Ikuya raises an eyebrow at him, not about to ask anything seriously in front of other people. Hiyori kind of wants to explain that it's his too-friendly friend Kisumi who's landed them in this situation, but he doesn't really know how to bring it up. He's never really even seen the two together.

"Well, fine," Terashima says. "This isn't over, though. You will be going out with us eventually."

"I'm looking forward to it, I promise," Hiyori says politely. "Well, I'll see you later."

And he leaves, wondering why, when he's heading towards an even bigger number of strangers, it feels like an escape.

* * *

Hiyori's destination is of the way, around the corner of what appears to be a large recreation area of Hidaka campus. It took longer to get here than Hiyori has expected, and he's fifteen minutes later than he'd expected to be and already lamenting the amount of time it's going to take him to get home.

It's not too hard to spot the group he's looking for; they're not in uniforms like the official team would be, and the courts they're on are off to the side, a little older-looking. They've taken over two courts, and after a few moments Hiyori determines that there's four different games going on in them.

The group is honestly bigger than Hiyori was expecting, at least twenty people. He tightens his grip on his bag and heads to the sidelines, keeping an eye out for an opening.

Kisumi is at the center of the action on his half of the court, laughing and joking and providing running commentary that only seems to fall silent when the ball is in his hands. He's good; he moves with an ease and a self-assurance that's evident even when he's driving for the basket, in passes that move fast enough that they sometimes almost—but not quite—catch his teammates off-guard.

The game has a fast rhythm, and Hiyori privately doubts whether he'll be able to keep up, but before he has time to do more come to that conclusion, the ball goes flying out of bounds and Kisumi is bounding towards him.

"Toono-kun!" He comes running up and then puts up a fist, which Hiyori quickly bumps, furtive and a second too late. "Glad you could make it! All warmed up and ready to go?"

"Sure. Sorry I'm late," Hiyori says. He'd come in a jersey already, but he takes the top off to reveal his T-shirt underneath. He balls it up and follows Kisumi over. "Is there a team looking for one more?"

"I think we can find someone for you to sub in for." Kisumi glances over at one of the smaller players, who's panting with his fists on his knees. To Hiyori's surprise, he switches to awkward English. "Sam, want a break?"

The player raises his head. Now that Hiyori looks, his hair is a natural sandy brown, sweaty and pushed out of a pink face. "Sure," he says, and waves in Hiyori's direction. " _Yoroshiku._ "

"Thank you," he says, in English, before he thinks about it. Sam doesn't seem to mind, jogging off the court with a loping stride. Not a bad accent either, Hiyori notes, and nods in Sam's direction as he follows Kisumi onto the court. "I didn't know there were international students in the circle, too," he says to Kisumi.

"Only the ones with better Japanese," Kisumi admits. "I need to keep studying if I'm going to convince the others!"

That explains this one's appearance, then, Hiyori thinks. If he'd imagined individual international students in a basketball circle, he would have pictured someone taller.

"Anyway," Kisumi says, "everyone, this is Hiyori! He'll be joining my team. Everyone on my team, raise your hand..."

There's nothing like jerseys to indicate who's on whose side, which makes Hiyori nervous at first, but none of the players pretend they're on the other team, and he learns the faces soon enough. He first gets the ball passed to him in the first minute or so, and nothing terrible happens. He tends to hang back when it comes to offense, passing the ball again quickly when it comes to him. His first shot goes wide, not even hitting the backboard, and he doesn't feel much inclination to try again.

It seems like he's acquitting himself on defense, though. Some of that his height, which is a bit over the group's average and gives him an edge snagging the ball on the rebound. The rest of it...well, apparently he's just observant, because even he's surprised sometimes when he manages to swipe the ball out of someone else's hands or interrupt a shot or a pass. Given these abilities, he lets himself focus on defense, and on strategic passing.

But then the other team starts wising up to the fact that he usually passes and giving him a wide berth, so he starts using that to line up a shot every now and then. It's not often, so they keep giving him the space and time to do it, and to his surprise he actually scores once. Kisumi cheers and gives him a slap on the back in passing, and Hiyori freezes up briefly before grinning and diving back into defense.

Their game comes to a close a few minutes later, with their team having won. There's some cheering and some playful insults tossed between the losers and the winners, and the people on the court disperse to the edges in groups to watch the other games for a few minutes.

Hiyori is glancing around, trying to look for somewhere to follow, when a familiar figure comes up to him.

"Are you also new?"

Hiyori has to look pretty far down, ear adjusting to the odd sound of Japanese syllables in a foreign mouth. "Yes," he answers, and then switches to English. "Sam, right?"

Sam straightens and blinks. "Yeah. You know English?"

"I lived in America for a few years." He extends a hand. "Hiyori."

"Oh. Nice to meet you." Sam's hands are small, surprisingly cold and rough only in places, soft and a little clammy in others. Despite all that, it's not a bad handshake. "Your English sounds really good."

"I get by." The truth is, he's rusty, but that's fine—he can make it work. "Kisumi makes friends in a lot of different places, doesn't he?"

"He does." Sam shakes his head. "He's so friendly—I'm not actually that into basketball, but when he offered, it was hard to say no."

Hiyori chuckles. "I know the feeling."

"Oh?" Sam tilts his head to one side. "What are you normally into?"

"Swimming, mostly." Hiyori shrugs.

It's a little funny the way that Sam obviously takes him in, head to toe—he's close enough that his chin actually lifts to see all the way to the top of his head.

"Swimming, huh?" Sam smiles. "Cool."

Hiyori blinks, because he knows that smile, recognizes the casual little half-step back. "Not very interesting," he says, testing.

"No, it's a cool hobby," Sam says, recognizably polite. "Really healthy. Do you swim competitively, then?"

"Yeah." Hiyori doesn't shy away from it, because it's true; he's not world-class by any stretch of the imagination, but it's only the people he's surrounded himself with that make him seem mediocre so much of the time. "College-level, anyway. That's one of the reasons I picked my school—I don't go here, by the way. I'm a student at Shimogami."

"Huh." Sam chuckles. "I'm just an exchange student here. Never really got into sports."

Not surprising, Hiyori doesn't say. Small and nervous and tentative—Hiyori's seen some swimmers that don't particularly look like athletes, but even with that, he just doesn't look the part. "What do you like, then?"

A small, slightly twisty smile. "Japanese is cool. And I read a lot."

"Really? Me too. Any recommendations?"

Sam blinks at him, apparently surprised, but he angles a little back towards Hiyori and actually looks straight at him all of a sudden, and Hiyori bites back a smile.

Maybe it was growing up for so many years around Ikuya, but he thinks he's watching a shy person making the shift from trying to make an exit to taking an interest. "Depends on what you like," Sam says, but there's a sudden clapping from across the court, and they both jump and turn.

"All right, next game," someone who isn't Kisumi is saying. "Let's have a heavy-hitters match and something a little lighter. Unless anyone's up for a game of HORSE?"

"HORSE sounds good," Hiyori says, echoing a few others—he could use the practice shooting, and something more competitive, with his level of play, would probably just hold him back.

"Actually," Sam says, and looks down at his watch. "I should..." He shoots Hiyori an apologetic glance, jerks his head, and then ducks and makes his way up to Kisumi.

Hiyori watches, a little bemused, as Sam makes some excuses and Kisumi claps him on the back. He stiffens a little at the contact, but laughs and waves as he heads off the course.

Hiyori watches him go, forlorn. Oddly, meeting Sam here has made him feel a little better. Seeing someone else so obviously nervous and out of his element helped him feel a little less out of place.

Not really sure what instinct he's following, he keeps watching as Sam gets near the corner. When he turns, about to go out of sight, Hiyori waves at him.

He thinks he catches the hint of a smile as Sam lines up a small wave in his direction, but then the ball gets thrown his way and he steps over to line up his shot.

Well, at least he got to know one person, even if he's probably never going to see him again. It's more than he'd expected for one afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, y'all have met Sam now. I promise he exists for a variety of good reasons, and I'm not going to let him take over the fic but he kinda needs to be here. Some other random notes: 
> 
> \- Kenji Miyazawa wrote _Night on the Galactic Railroad_ , which is one of the books that Hiyori tried to lend Ikuya as a middle-schooler when he was in the hospital in America. I've only read summaries in English, but the subject matter, in that context, is A Lot. 
> 
> \- Sports stuff: I have no idea if anyone actually plays HORSE in Japan, or what it's called. I also don't know for sure if Shin Sagae and Kotarou Terashima are both first-years while Hoshikawa is an upperclassman, but that's the assumption I'm working with. 
> 
> \- Technically, most of the characters should probably be referred to by surname most of the time in this fic, but I'm lazy—I'm keeping the surnames limited to a few people that Hiyori doesn't like/is particularly distant from in his own head, and using first names with a lot of the minor characters, at least in narration. I'm using the fact that Hiyori spent a lot of time in America as an excuse. :P
> 
> Thank you all for reading so far, and I'll see you next week!


	3. Theses and Motifs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hiyori adjusts, and doesn't.

Weeks pass, and Hiyori gets back into reading.

Books multiply around him. Of course the library is full—it's a university—but it's mostly nonfiction. He actually ends up having a bit better luck at the bookstores and the community library, but those are both a bit far away, so he can only go once or twice a week.

He fills his newly empty hours with reading. Some reading for school, of course, but that was in his previous schedule. Literature—some of the latest award-winners, to start, because it's actually a little fun to sit in a café with a colorful beverage and the latest title, and look like a cool young adult who doesn't need friends to have a good time.

(He had fun by himself before, too, sometimes—back when it was something he felt almost guilty about, rather than something that was terrifying to be faced with all the time. He was his own person. He just tried to pretend it wasn't the case, especially in the times when Ikuya was really hurting.)

He slips some English books into his reading, too. Partly for the sake of practice—cutting his teeth on a good middle-grade fantasy novel was a kind of fun he never really outgrew from his time in America. But, well, the English selection is a bit thin, in libraries and bookstores alike. Usually there's not much aside from the classics. So a collection of Grimm's fairy tales makes it into his bag.

He can't bring himself to crack it open before the due date, so he just returns it with the ones he did read, and gets an extension on the novel he's still working through.

All in all, these moments of functional invisibility, of irrelevance to anyone but himself, losing and finding himself in the crowd…it's actually a bit enjoyable, when he lets it be. Turning into sea foam isn't so bad. Ultimately, it's a matter of degrees. 

He's pretty sure he'll survive the experience...or at least, he is when he's on his own. 

With Ikuya, at the oddest moments, it feels a lot more like he's drowning. 

* * *

The problem is...it was one thing, right at first, to promise himself he was going to do better. It finally occurs to him, far later than it should have, that he doesn't know how. 

Talking with Ikuya—that, he can handle. He's still quiet, reflective—some of the time. He rants a bit more than he used to, talking about the people he knows, what he's done with his day, his latest argument with Asahi. 

(It is stressful, at first, listening to Ikuya talk about Asahi, until Hiyori gets used to it. Apparently the aggravated edge to his voice is somehow a sign of affection as long as it doesn't pass a certain point. Hiyori doesn't get it, but he keeps that off his face until he does.) 

With the team, though it is better and worse. 

Better, because most of the time Ikuya's attention isn't on him at all. That's not new, but his focus _has_ shifted; more and more, it's spent on his teammates. 

Worse, because soon enough it seems like Ikuya's on more amicable terms with the team than Hiyori could ever be. And Hiyori is trying. Really, he is.

But Ikuya is so…supportive. He works together with Sagae and Terashima, checks in with them even when they're not practicing together, throws compliments and even makes jokes—they're shy, especially at first, but they seem to come out of him naturally. It's so different from the way he was before the meet, the way he's been for years, that it's a struggle for Hiyori process it.

Hiyori is suddenly the one receiving overtures from the other three, and he doesn't know how to respond to any of them, when they're all together. 

Like, for example, there's a day after practice when Terashima gets behind him and throws an arm around his shoulders. Hiyori twitches and stumbles a bit under the sudden weight, almost pulling them both off balance. 

"You're not getting away from us this time, Toono," Terashima says, jostling him. "Karaoke. Us. Now." 

"Uh," Hiyori says, eloquently. He turns to Ikuya, about to plead, but Ikuya is raising an eyebrow and the corner of his mouth is curling. Ikuya's _amused_ , Hiyori realizes. And he wants to go. 

He feels his mouth twist up into an expression of playful resignation. If he's going to do something he won't enjoy, at least playing it off as a joke will make things that much smoother for everyone involved. "All right," he says, and he gathers his things together, and they go. 

It's everything that's wrong with their everyday interactions, but for three hours straight with no swimming in between to save him. He doesn't know most of the songs. Of the songs he does know that he remembers the titles of and can find in the database, half of them are in English, and when he finally gives up and puts one of those on anyway out of desperation, Terashima and Sagae stare. 

"Your accent is really good," Sagae says after the song is over, impressed. 

"It's nothing special," Hiyori says. Terashima is eyeing him with annoyance, and he doesn't know how to explain that he couldn't think of anything else he knew without it sounding fake. 

"Whatever," Terashima says, finally. "You can't beat this, Toono," and for a second Hiyori thinks he's serious before he breaks out into the worst caterwauling Hiyori has ever heard. 

Ah, this was the promised yodeling. 

Hiyori does his best to look like he's trying not to laugh, instead of trying not to cringe, and distracts himself by mentally betting on whether Ikuya's or Sagae's poker face will fail first. 

The mood is repaired after that. Hiyori sings along to "A Cruel Angel's Thesis" and gets better at passing Ikuya the song selection screen when no one is looking. Eventually, it's over, and he gets to escape back to his dorm and finish the assignment he'd been putting off in favor of reading. It's poorly done and he sacrifices half a night of sleep on it, but he supposes it's worth it, if it's the best he can do for damage control. 

That night, staring up at his darkened ceiling and ignoring the damning number on the clock, Hiyori realizes a few things, quiet but certain.

First: he doesn't know how to deal with this.

Second: despite all his attempts to be nice, to be pleasant, to be likable, to fit in—a change of heart is all ittook for Ikuya to leap over his efforts of years and years. He's quickly coming closer and closer to the emotional core of their relay team, and even the team as a whole.

(This despite the fact that he carves a fair bit of time out of his schedule to spend time with his friends at a rival school. Somehow, no one seems bothered by this.)

And third: Hiyori is going to destroy this relationship.

Or rather, now that Ikuya is back to the way he always wanted things to be, now that he doesn't actually need someone stupidly loyal enough to keep an eye on him at all times…there's no way he's going to want Hiyori at his side.

Hiyori knows better than to keep mother-henning, not now that Ikuya is doing better. He can't think of a faster way to get thrown out of Ikuya's life.

But when Ikuya tries to be friendly to him…

All of a sudden, he's that lost, stupidly lonely little kid in the sandbox. Ikuya's friendly gaze is challenging, terrifying. He feels like he's a step away from rejection, all the time. Like every time he freezes under Ikuya's smile, they get one step further apart, even as Ikuya gets closer to the others.

He'd found his place in the world, his escape from his terrible loneliness, at Ikuya's side. It's a good thing that Ikuya doesn't need him anymore. It's wonderful that he's still trying to be Hiyori's friend, but...

But right now, Hiyori can't do this. He's falling behind. And he's not going to allow himself to drag down Ikuya with him, so he's going to have to learn.

* * *

It's almost a relief when Ikuya messages him a few days later, asking to come over, and then knocks on the door the moment Hiyori agrees. His stomach swoops low, a sick, familiar feeling, but he stands back from the front door and the smile on his face feels more secure than it has in days. 

"Hey," he says as he opens the door. "How was your day?" 

"All right," Ikuya says, which is a step out of the usual routine, but he gets his shoes off and moves brusquely past Hiyori in the same way Hiyori's used to. 

"Something to drink?" 

"I'm good," Ikuya says. His backpack thunks into its familiar corner, but Hiyori doesn't hear it open. 

"Done with studying for tonight?" he asks, following Ikuya into his main room. 

"Yeah," Ikuya says. "You?" 

"Mostly," Hiyori lies. He'd been reading, because he'd expected to have the evening to finish what he had left to do, but he'll squeeze it in later. If the look on Ikuya's face is any indication—and Hiyori has years of experience reading the signs—Ikuya has something he wants to talk about. 

"Cool," Ikuya says, and rubs absently at his knees, glaring in the direction of Hiyori's drawn curtains. 

Hiyori regards him, feeling the familiar _thud_ in his ribcage at the proud jut of Ikuya's chin, the way his jaw works. He's lovely, of course, but that's secondary; he's upset, and the question is whether he'd rather Hiyori not pry, or if he's waiting for him to ask what's wrong. He hasn't done anything too obvious yet, so Hiyori is guessing the former, but if this goes on too long...

He hates seeing Ikuya shut up in his own head, looking all alone. He doesn't want it to last any longer than it has to. 

Thankfully, Ikuya doesn't wait. "They're hiding things from me," he mutters. 

"Hiding things? Nanase and the others?" Hiyori sits down on his side of the table, wishing he'd started tea anyway so he would have something to do with his hands. 

Ikuya glances at him, a shy little peek that means he's not sure about talking about this yet. Hiyori's glad; it's not any of his business, but Ikuya's letting him in anyway. 

"Haru and Mako. They're...not exactly hiding things, I guess," he says grudgingly, still eyeing Hiyori's curtains like he's got a grudge against his interior décor choices. "But there's...a lot I missed, over the years. I thought that now that we were hanging out again...things would be the same as before." 

Ikuya must know there's no way that would be true; he doesn't need Hiyori to tell him that. Hiyori sits with the statement for a moment, turning it over in his mind. "There's a lot they missed about you too, then." 

"Yeah," Ikuya says. 

"Is it hard to talk about?" Hiyori asks. 

"Yes and...no," Ikuya says. "They already know a lot of my stuff, I think. It's more...I feel like I could talk about me, if I wanted. I don't know if I want to. I just feel like I can't ask about _them_." 

"And you want to?" Hiyori asks. He doesn't like it—Ikuya shouldn't be taking on anyone else's trouble—but if Ikuya wants that, then he should let that desire out in the open, at least privately. 

"Not exactly," Ikuya says. "It seems like...there was stuff, but they figured it out on their own. I feel like I'd be digging up their pasts to satisfy my own curiosity." 

"Hm," Hiyori says. "That does sound complicated." 

Silence falls, but Hiyori has learned the rhythms of conversations like these. He will think about the next thing to ask till a good thing comes to mind, or Ikuya will break out with something else that's bothering him. The crawling in his guts is slow, methodical; his heartbeat has quieted to a whisper in his chest. 

Really, there were times not so long ago when this would have been one of Ikuya's better days. This much, Hiyori can absolutely handle. 

"They got through it without me," Ikuya says. "I don't know if I have the right to ask." 

"They're your friends," Hiyori says, feeling it out for himself as he speaks. "You can...ask, I think. I think it's okay to want to know. You can always check first if they'd rather not talk about it." 

"That's true," Ikuya says, and sighs, tipping his head onto his knee briefly before fidgeting some more, pushing his hair out of his eyes. "I'm still not sure if it'd be worth it to bring it up." 

"It doesn't seem like there's any rush," Hiyori says. "Maybe in a few months you'll be more comfortable with each other." 

"...Yeah," Ikuya says. "Yeah, that's true." 

Begrudging, but with none of the hint that means he disagrees. Hiyori draws a careful, silent sigh of relief. That was one of the easiest talks he can remember having. This was bothering Ikuya, to be sure, but probably not much. 

It feels nice that he's okay coming to Hiyori with this, too. Even after everything. 

When he looks up again, Ikuya's staring straight at him, and Hiyori feels a jolt run through him, jarring as a false step. This is another deviation from the pattern, the directness of Ikuya's gaze, the faint, twisted smile at the corner of his mouth. 

"Thanks," he says, and the self-deprecating tone isn't new, but the faint humor in it is. 

"S-sure," he stutters out, and the smile fades a bit. Not enough to go out, but now it's accompanied by...puzzlement? 

Hiyori isn't used to being looked at like this. "Is there something on my face?" he asks. 

Ikuya shakes his head. "I was thinking," he says. "They're talking about throwing a beach party, with some of the younger Iwatobi kids. Do you want to come?" 

Hiyori blinks. "Iwatobi's really far away," he says, even though that's the least relevant fact about this situation.

"Apparently Ryugazaki and Hazuki are planning to visit Tokyo anyway," Ikuya says, shrugging. "Something about campus tours." 

"Oh." 

Ikuya pushes the issue. "And I was thinking, just—if you wanted, you could come, too."

He feels _the_ smile, the "looking after Ikuya's feelings" smile, crawl back onto his face without his consent or, indeed, any warning at all. He knows now that that's what it's always been—that he's always been bad at smiling at Ikuya like he means it, not the way that Ikuya smiles now.

(He doesn't smile constantly, still. But it's enough—it's the right amount for him. Hiyori still feels a little jolt in his chest every time he sees it, even when it's aimed nowhere near him.)

The fake smile doesn't budge, though, because it's the only way he knows to deal with inconvenient truths, and if Ikuya's going to make him spell it out, well…

"I'm not sure that'd be the best idea," he says. "They don't have a lot of reason to like me, after all."

"They're not like that," Ikuya says. "They said it'd be fun for you to come along."

He blinks, and the smile slips. "Really?"

"Yeah."

Hiyori doesn't know what to say to that, and the moment stretches. Ikuya's staring at him, now, with a very particular look. It's one of his new ones, one where his gaze is direct and his eyes are shining and his lips are slightly slack, brow faintly creased with concentration.

It's...striking, in a way that makes it a little difficult to look at directly, like it's too bright. Like a full moon, or even a tiny sun.

And then Ikuya looks away. "If you don't want to..." he begins, and his voice is distant, neutral, but clearly masking disappointment, and Hiyori can stand the sting of the first but not the second.

…So in the end, no, he can't be honest. Not when the alternative is giving Ikuya what he wants. But maybe he can soften the dishonesty a little, like with the karaoke.

"You know what, sure," he says, but doesn't try to hide his doubt, even as the smile sinks in deeper. "I'll give it a try."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one random piece of trivia this time, which is that I've heard the first opening of the Neon Genesis Evangelion anime ( _Zankoku na Tenshi no Teeze_ /"A Cruel Angel's Thesis") is a popular karaoke choice in Japan, even for people who aren't actually into anime. It's definitely come up pretty often when I've gone.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. On the Shore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hiyori reaches out, and makes some friends. (Mild content warning, please check the notes!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a conversation in this chapter that might be upsetting because it's easily construed as a violation of privacy. I talk about a little bit in the notes at the end of this chapter, if you want a **content warning**. 
> 
> I don't have a member list for this beach party because honestly, there's enough boys that I can't keep track of them all, and being too specific is a great way to write myself into a corner. However, I can say with great certainty that Rin is definitely Not in this chapter, for reasons that are spoilers for some specific scenes in the _Road to the World_ movie (which haven't happened yet in this fic's timeline). 
> 
> This chapter ended up being longer than expected—chapters definitely won't always be this long. My brain is kind of mush from looking at it, so I hope it isn't too much of a mess.

On a Sunday morning at the tail end of summer, Ikuya and Hiyori get on a bus and then a train. It's quiet with buttery sunlight coming through the windows, and Ikuya is full of a quiet anticipation that Hiyori feels he can't intrude on. Neither the morning sun nor Ikuya bear looking at too closely this morning, so he keeps both in the corner of his eye as the buildings melt away to hills and tunnels. Finally, the sea finally opens up in front of him, and then Hiyori doesn't need to remind himself to look away from anything else. Even the book in his bag lies forgotten.

He always forgets how _big_ the sea is. How when viewed at a distance, it is flat and absolute enough to make a fool of the entire rest of the world. How he was born on an island and spent enough time off it that now that he's back, it occasionally strikes him how _small_ it is, how small all land everywhere is, and how the ocean has very little reason to care about of it.

He wants, suddenly, to find a quiet place to listen to the waves on the shore. But that's not why he came, and so he listens to the buffeting wind, waiting for the first the faint sounds of water as he follows Ikuya to the small knot of young people in front of the station that is already growing, and growing louder.

In a running theme for Hiyori lately, the number of people gathering to head down to the beach is more than he'd expected. Apparently it isn't just Ikuya's friends who set this up, but some friends of theirs as well. He wonders whether it's a Kisumi thing or just an Iwatobi thing, but there are enough heads that he quickly loses track of any of Ikuya's awkward initial attempts at introductions.

On the plus side, that means no one gives Hiyori more than a second glance, except for Kisumi, who gives him a wave and a friendly grin before he's distracted by Asahi and some other redheads—and, weirdly, for Nanase. Nanase's glance isn't terrible, though—he doesn't seem actively hostile, at least, nor does he seem interested in doing anything other than looking Hiyori over and then looking away.

Hiyori isn't the only new one there, either, in this odd little extended group. He gives a brief introduction when Ikuya prompts him, and then stays at the fringes of the group while the other, younger newcomers introduce themselves.

Then the group starts heading down to the beach, little lines of two or three or four, somehow falling into step and then back out and re-forming, and talking, talking, talking. And Hiyori, a step ahead and then a step behind and then—always sudden, always from a different direction—tapped on the shoulder or thrown a loaded glance, pulled into a conversation he didn't hear the beginning of, off-step and off-kilter and eventually, mercifully, let off the hook to drift further back in the line, dreading the moment when it happens again.

Specifically, they won't stop asking _questions_. And some of them are fine, some of them he knows how to answer—the ones about where he and Ikuya met (even if it's a lie, he's not sharing that with strangers), where he's studied, how much of a coincidence this and that was, and so on. How he chose his strokes. He can handle those things, he tells himself, and mostly he does, but then something always...stops, and he spends a few seconds on the knife-edge of awkwardness before a head turns and a new question is asked to someone who's not him, and he begins, again, the process of slipping away.

Compared to a few years ago, he would have considered that he's doing a reasonable job—no one's glaring at him or purposefully leaving him out, and he doesn't think anyone has picked up on his discomfort enough for it to become a problem.

But he's grown, these past few years, if only in his powers of observation. And listening to their happy back-and-forth chatter, the way even Nanase sticks close to Tachibana and Ikuya and doesn't drift the way Hiyori does, adding his own comments unprompted and saying something that makes Asahi crack up at one point—no, there's something that he's missing, that these people have between them.

As they reach their spot on the beach, as the towels and umbrellas come out and someone produces a volleyball net, he finds an out of the way patch on the edge of a group, leaning in so he's not obviously on his own, and sets out to find what it is.

It's watching everyone else get to know Nagisa—and especially watching the reverse—that gives him a possible answer. He is a bit of a brick wall. He cannot answer questions about himself well, not in any way that matters.

Around him, people are doing just that. They give answers that aren't simply platitudes, but that showcase parts of themselves—from the silly nicknames, to childhood preferences, to stories about friends, pets, family members, favorite TV shows. Hiyori cannot imagine coming up with answers like that so quickly.

Well, he thinks, if he can't answer them, maybe he can try _asking_ questions. And as the towels come out and the group start splitting off into smaller sections, he looks for an opportunity to try it out.

He finds one in the form of the boy who'd come with Nagisa, who is now arguing with him briefly, waving around what looks like a sunscreen bottle. Nagisa heads off, still laughing, and the boy folds himself down onto his towel, glancing at his watch and muttering something.

Hiyori gives him a few minutes to cool down, and then heads over and reintroduces himself. The boy's name is Rei, and the first thing that Hiyori learns about him is that he apparently cares a lot about waiting the proper amount of time for sun protection to start being effective. Luckily, Rei likes to read—although it turns out he's more of a nonfiction person. But Hiyori still stumbles gratefully through a conversation about biology and literature, during which they're politely confused with each other, but able to appreciate their different areas of expertise.

The longer they talk, the more Hiyori suspects that it isn't a sunscreen-only thing, and that Rei just cares about rules in general. Though awkward, he's clearly a kind and diligent person—and even when he complains that Nagisa and the others tease him a bit for that diligence, it's equally obvious that they accept him for what he's shared with them of who he is.

Eventually the timer on Rei's phone goes off, and leaves stands to go join the others in the water. "Are you coming, Toono-senpai?" he asks, polite.

"Just Hiyori is fine," Hiyori says, waving a hand. "And actually, I'm going to wait a little bit longer. It's...a little hard for me to socialize in the water." He taps his glasses with a self-deprecating smile. "I've got some reading I want to catch up on, anyway. You go ahead."

(It's only kind of a lie, but it's true that Hiyori's eyesight is terrible, and not being able to see people's faces clearly when they talk to him is...weird.)

"If you're sure," Rei says, dubiously, but he lets it go with a friendly little wave. "Come over whenever you're ready. Later," and he's gone, jogging down the beach. Hiyori can hear his shriek as Nagisa immediately splashes him, and he smiles as he stands and dusts himself off.

Hiyori finds himself regretting, a bit, that Rei is still in high school, and at Iwatobi at that. This is one group member he thinks he might actually be able to get along with, if Ikuya's friends ever decide to invite him along somewhere again.

But that won't solve his bigger problem: except for that first time years ago with Ikuya, with the books, he's barely ever tried to share anything about himself with anyone. Not for years.

Or really, he reflects as he walks a short distance away, puts down his towel, and retrieves the books he brought, it's too charitable to say that he only doesn't know how to talk to people. There's also the tiny issue of whether he even has anything worthwhile to say.

Somehow, as the sounds of laughter ring in his ears and he starts to lose himself in more interesting people's problems, he kind of doubts that he does.

* * *

"Is this spot available?"

Hiyori looks up, uncertain and a little disoriented, setting his book aside. "Sure." 

He isn't sure why Tachibana has come to join him, a few quiet hours later. Nanase's still swimming, because of course he is, and a number of the other team members are there as well. Tachibana doesn't go back into the water after the group finishes their lunch, but instead settles down next to Hiyori watches fondly as the others splash around, form impromptu race teams, and yell excitedly about the effects of salinity and waves on the experience of swimming.

Maybe he simply cannot help the temptation in situations like these to play lifeguard for a little while. Hiyori really doesn't know him well enough to make any sort of guess about what Tachibana's thinking, but with the way his gaze keeps wandering back and forth over the group, touching briefly on each individual body in the water, he thinks it isn't a terrible guess.

Heck, maybe it's a coaching thing. He apparently looks after kids now, after all.

It's that, the teaching, and the gentleness and how right he was about Haru last time, that make him speak. "Tachibana-san…I have a slightly personal question. If that's all right."

Tachibana looks a little surprised, but it's a gentle look. "There's no need to be so formal. Just Makoto is fine. But sure, what is it?" he asks.

"You and Nanase are pretty close, right?"

"Yes," Makoto says. "We've known each other since we were children."

He swallows, still not sure that this question is a good idea, but he can't think where else to take the conversation and he really does want to know. "Are there things…that you can't talk with him about?"

"Hmm." Makoto thinks about it. "No, not really."

" _How?_ "

Makoto looks slightly, kindly amused by the exasperation he's apparently let slip into his tone. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, he's so…he goes at his own pace, and you're…" _Agreeable_ is the best word that comes to mind, but that sounds too much like _doormat,_ and while Hiyori might think that about himself sometimes that's not what he's looking for to describe Makoto. "It seems like you look out for him quite often," he says, finally, and the words are wrong but at least they get the point across. He can settle for that. "What about when you have something to say that you think he might not like?"

"You really are trying too hard, aren't you?"

The question is very gentle, which is the only reason it doesn't knock the breath out of him. How does Makoto do that? How does he take just one look at him with those gentle eyes and _get it_ , get hints of all the things he can't say, that it seems like Ikuya can barely even conceive of?

"I…I'm starting to realize that I always have." The words are rough. "I don't know how not to. I'm worried…I'm just going to end up driving him away."

"It's hard," Makoto says, solemnly. "And the longer you hold some things back, the harder it is when they come out into the open. Me and Haru had a fight once, you know? Back in high school. There were things I didn't know how to say, and when they finally came out…it was hard on both of us." His eyes are sad now. He pulls off sad well, just like he does kind, but Hiyori still doesn't like to see it on him. "It might be harder for you, because neither of you is used to it."

"Yeah," Hiyori sighs. "Yeah, we're really not."

Makoto just makes a small noise of agreement and tilts his head to look over at Hiyori, large body folded into a shape that's surprisingly small, but comfortable-looking. He looks expectant.

"I just…" Hiyori takes a breath. This feels a bit like a starting block, or even a diving board; he's not entirely sure he should be here, doing this, saying this, but at the same time he's already planning his downward trajectory, can already feel the swoop in his stomach that tells him he's falling. "I didn't lie to him, you know? At least, not much. I didn't _want_ to mislead him."

Makoto looks him over like Hiyori's the one he's suddenly worried is going to drown. Hiyori keeps looking out at the water, because if he ignores the concern, maybe that means the risk isn't there.

"But, you know…I left out a lot," he says. "I always have. And now that there are people around him who are…so honest…" He cuts a gaze to Makoto, whose eyes soften further. Yeah, he gets it. "…He's going to know the difference. And if…when I tell him the truth…"

He's not going to like Hiyori anymore.

Did Ikuya ever really like him to begin with? Or did he just grudgingly accept him as a needed constant, when he was at his worst?

"People used to think I was Haruka's keeper, sometimes."

Jolted out of his thought process, HIyori takes the opportunity to blink rapidly and turn to Makoto, confused. "Really?"

"Yes." Makoto is frowning. "He was…hm. This is a little hard to talk about. I haven't talked it over much with Haru yet, either."

"I don't want to pry," Hiyori offers immediately, but keeps his voice gentle. "If it's not something you want to share."

"No, I could use the practice." Makoto smiles over at him, faintly. Still, the nerves are easy to read on his face as he continues.

"I'm learning about sports education now, you know?" he says. "And some of that has involved child development. There's an intro course I'm taking that just finished its unit on child development."

That's a bit fascinating in and of itself, even if Hiyori isn't sure where Makoto's going with it. But he keeps watching.

"Haru…hasn't always been the best at communicating," Makoto says softly. "Under different circumstances, I think he might've been diagnosed with a developmental difference. And in high school…there were a few other things. It was hard. And…well, I was there when I could be. It wasn't a hardship, to help him get his point across sometimes."

Hiyori thinks about it. Nanase is quiet now, sure, but self-assurance comes off him in (sometimes literal) waves. When he imagines him a bit younger, however…he thinks that he can perhaps picture it. A stoicism that comes off harsh as a brick wall, or simply ignoring what wasn't understood or relevant.

Yeah, he can get the idea that a younger Nanase might've been even harder to talk to.

"I'm not saying that he needed it," Makoto clarifies, suddenly. "I'm not a doctor, and it's not my business, certainly not to share with other people. But…there were other people that treated him a little bit that way." His eyes go to the middle distance, soft. "And that definitely affected both of us."

"That's understandable," Hiyori admits.

"But at the same time," Makoto says seriously, "he never really needed me to step in for him. And I didn't do it out of a sense of obligation. It was just easier for everyone involved sometimes."

He nods.

"Haru has his own way of getting through the world," Makoto continues. "He always has. And sometimes I misjudge that and try to do too much for him. He's usually been good at stopping me when that happens, but it's something I have to keep an eye on myself for." He smiles slightly. "I like to think I'm learning, but there are still times when I make that mistake. Even if it's only in my head, and I catch myself before someone else notices."

"You're…I think you probably do all right," Hiyori says.

Makoto's gaze slides over to him. "Thanks."

Not that he would know—he's only barely seen them together, seen the hints of protectiveness that Makoto is referring to now. He could've gotten much more involved with Hiyori's little vendetta, but he didn't—even when Hiyori's words left Nanase at something of a loss. That alone, to Hiyori at least, says a great deal.

"What about you?" Makoto asks softly.

"What about me?"

"You've been looking out for Ikuya for a long time, right? Ever since we couldn't."

Hiyori takes a deep breath. "I suppose that's true."

"No need to be modest," Makoto says. "That's what you were trying to do before, wasn't it? You were protecting him from us."

Hiyori pushes up his glasses, rubs at the spot between his eyes. He still hates admitting he was wrong out loud, but Makoto makes it easier than he would've thought. "And it was the wrong call."

"You had no way of knowing that," Makoto argues gamely. "I can understand why you did what you did, and it all turned out fine in the end."

"Thanks."

"But I remember…the first time that Ikuya nearly drowned." The sudden darkness in Makoto's voice, still gentle, is a surprising thing. In a moment, all his good humor vanishes. He still seems kind, but he's completely serious. "It was terrifying."

"…Yeah."

"And I was with my friends, at the time, on a team." Makoto frowns. "When it happened again…was it just you? Who was with him?"

"Ikuya doesn't think anybody was."

Makoto's intake of breath is slow, nearly silent, but visible in the movement of his shoulders. He's still not smiling.

"See, I didn't really get to him in time. I barely noticed him slip under the water for good." The words come out straight and hard of matter-of-fact, almost cruel. He's not sure why. "They said…it was a close call. He must've been out, or nearly there, by the time I pulled him out of the water. I got to the hospital as fast as I could after they took him away, but they wouldn't let me ride with him. I had some pocket money—I called a cab from a payphone." He smiles a bit. "I was lucky the cab driver didn't ask for a sob story, but grown-ups always liked me. They didn't give me any trouble."

His shoulders hunch a bit, at the memory. "But Ikuya still woke up alone."

Makoto is silent for a while. "Did his brother come?" he asks eventually. "Was he angry?"

"I don't know. Maybe a little. He seemed upset, but he wasn't yelling or anything." Hiyori shrugs. "He asked me to look after him, you know? And I guess I never really stopped. I don't…I don't know if I know how to."

Makoto takes another deep breath, too quiet to be a sigh. Instead of releasing it, he speaks. "You're trying now, though. You've given him a lot of space, and you're putting up with his old friends. I'm sure he appreciates it."

"…Mm."

"Have you talked to him about any of this?"

"I…don't know how."

"I see."

"I kind of feel like…it's too much to bring up," Hiyori ventures, after a pause. "At least, not till I've proven I can do better." A wry smile curls across his face. He lets it stay. "Not antagonize you all quite as much."

"I think you're staying well within acceptable levels of antagonism," Makoto says pleasantly. "Besides…even if you're still struggling with the words, your actions count for something too, you know. And not just from now—from the beginning. Ikuya's a thoughtful person. He won't throw your friendship away just because you're having a little trouble communicating with him right now."

Ikuya's words run through his head again: _I'm not sure we're friends._

Hiyori is no good at crying. He never has been, but something about Makoto's kind and open expression…it makes it harder, brings things to the surface. He rubs at his face, is glad when his hands don't come away wet. There's some more blinking.

"I don't know if I can…believe that, just yet. But thanks."

They're distracted a short while later by sounds of yelping from the beach. Tachibana picks up something out of his belongings and goes running over. Hiyori follows at a more sedate pace, and by the time he's come closer it's been revealed that someone—one of the Mikoshibas, maybe, he can't entirely tell them apart unless they're next to each other—managed to have a literal brush with a jellyfish. Painful, but ultimately harmless. Makoto treats it seriously all the same.

Hiyori watches as Makoto helps patch him up and lead him, sulking, back to shore. He finds himself smiling a little after Makoto as he goes to find Ikuya instead.

It's time he got a bit of swimming in.

* * *

Sooner than Hiyori would have expected, the day starts to end.

He does swim with Ikuya for a bit, and then, when Ikuya starts to gravitate back to Nanase and the others, he goes a little bit further off. There's a small outcropping of rocks rocks within shouting distance of the group, and he finds himself drifting towards them as his body starts to tire, the chill of the ocean finally winning out against the fading heat. 

He isn't sure at first whether he'll find anywhere to rest on these rocks, but he reaches up and tries it. He's more than a little surprised when, a minute later, he's found a reasonably comfortable perch to watch the others racing and playing, splashing each other or simply floating in misshapen rings, presumably chatting. 

He can't really hear the ocean from his perch, not with so many people splashing and shouting so close. But it's...quiet, the air still enough that he feels errant breezes brush against his skin. 

"Hey." 

Hiyori turns from where he's been watching the lowering sun play against the waves on the horizon, blinking down at Ikuya in surprise. Last saw, Ikuya had been surrounded by people. He's not sure when he made his way over here. 

"We're getting ready to leave," Ikuya tells him, getting a grip and heaving himself halfway up onto a rock. "Everything okay?" 

"Huh? Yeah, of course. Everything's fine." 

Ikuya gives him a long look, and then jumps back into the water with a splash. "Okay. Then we should get going." 

Hiyori starts climbing down the rocks after him, but Ikuya doesn't wait, and he heads back to his towel on his own. 

"Oh, um, Hiyori-kun?"

Hiyori turns his head, surprised, to find Makoto watching him.

Makoto stares at him for a long moment. Opens his mouth, and then stops, like he's second-guessing himself. Finally, he says, "Can I get your number, Hiyori-kun?"

He blinks. "Why?"

"It's just…well, I was thinking," and now his hand's on the back of his neck and he looks a little sheepish, but he's still not hiding, "if you ever wanted to talk again, well. It wouldn't do if we can only get in touch with you through Ikuya, would it?"

"If it comes down to it," Hiyori says dryly, "I'm usually easier to find than he is, aren't I?"

Makoto chuckles. "That's also true. But…well." He shrugs. "This isn't exactly a closed circle or anything, you know? Ikuya even says you lived in Iwatobi at one point, and you're already Ikuya's friend, so I don't see why you shouldn't also be ours."

"If I'm going to do that, I should apologize to Nanase properly," he grumbles.

Makoto gives him a knowing smile. "I'll leave that much to the two of you. But Haru-chan doesn't usually bite, if that helps."

"He might not, but I do."

Somehow, Makoto doesn't seem troubled by this, and Hiyori sighs, reaching down for his phone...

He pauses, frowning. "That's odd..."

"Something wrong?" Makoto asks. 

"It's fine," Hiyori says. "I just..." 

His phone isn't where he thought he left it. He picks up his jacket and puts it on, checking the pockets, but nothing. "Just need to find my phone," he admits, sheepish. "I wonder where it got to..." 

"Oh!" Makoto turns and starts looking around, too. Hiyori's taken aback—he hadn't meant for Makoto to do that—but Makoto pops up again before Hiyori can say anything. "Is this it?" 

Hiyori blinks at his phone in Makoto's hand. "So it is," he says. "I...didn't think I'd left it over there. Thanks, Makoto-kun." 

"You're welcome," Makoto says, handing his phone over. His fingers, Hiyori notices, are broad and long, and warm. 

So is his smile, and though Hiyori really doesn't think he'd been over there to put his phone away, he puts the issue away for now. He helps Makoto fold up his towel hands Nanase some things to carry back to the rest of the group. It's a more companionable silence than he would have considered possible at the beginning of the day, and it's nice to suspect, at least, that Nanase doesn't resent him.

He accepts Makoto's friend request, and then works up the courage to go and offer to friend Rei. Rei is just as pleasant as he's been throughout the day, eager for the advice of someone already attending college in Tokyo, and Hiyori's still feeling pleased with how well that went when his phone buzzes again. 

It's a friend request from Nanase. 

Hiyori stares at his phone, and then, out of curiosity, searches for Nanase in the small crowd. He's standing, looking as impassive as always, but his phone is out and Makoto has his, too, right next to him. Makoto seems to be saying something with enthusiasm, but Haruka ignores him in favor of glancing Hiyori's way, expression inscrutable. 

Hiyori looks down and away, but he presses _"Accept"_ anyway. 

* * *

"Did you have a good time?"

It's not quite asked out of the blue, but something about the way Ikuya's eyes come up to meet Hiyori's as they sit together on the bus makes whatever they'd been talking about earlier fly completely out of his head.

In the streetlights zooming past them, Ikuya's eyes flash a shadowy, burnished gold.

Hiyori doesn't know how to answer, for a moment. He blames the weight of Ikuya's focus, the way he leans forward slightly, the bare honesty and interest in the question.

Then he remembers the correct answer to a question like that. "Yeah," he says, and smiles. "It was nice, seeing everyone together like that. You looked like you were having a good time, too."

But Ikuya frowns, and Hiyori wonders whether he misheard the question. "You weren't uncomfortable?"

Hiyori's mouth works for a moment, but no sound comes out. He swallows and tries again. "Aha, well, maybe a little, at first. But everyone was very kind. And I got to meet Rei-kun and the others—Nagisa-kun had a lot of energy, didn't he? How well do you know those two, anyway?"

Ikuya starts comparing his notes with Hiyori on Rei and Nagisa and the handful of others they'd met for the first time, but he has a bit of an air of giving in, and the directness of his gaze has gone a bit muted, a shade closer to the Ikuya that Hiyori remembers. He has the distinct feeling he failed some sort of test, and he's always hated failing.

In the end, that's only exacerbated at the end of the night, after they get off the bus and start walking towards the dorms, when Ikuya stops him with a hand on his arm.

"I wanted to say..." He bites his lip, and looks away. "Thanks for coming." He doesn't look happy.

"I should be the one thanking you," he says, feeling his stomach twist. He tries his best to smile. "And the others. They didn't have to invite me, but they welcomed me in anyway."

"Maybe that's true," Ikuya says, "but you didn't really want to be there, did you?" The question is quiet, not accusing, but he's actually looking at the ground, the way he used to get when he was distant. He doesn't usually talk when he looks like this, not without being coaxed. "You were doing it for my sake."

His eyes are dark now, despite the starlight, reflecting nothing but the shadows of the sidewalk below them.

"No, I…" Ikuya is being patient, but Hiyori has hurt him nonetheless. "I liked Rei, and Makoto-kun. I'm not…all that great with so many people at once, but talking with individual people was fun."

Ikuya looks up at him, and his dark eyes reflect the street lamps, the lights of the skyline as he looks at Hiyori. He's still frowning. "If you knew you weren't good with lots of people, why did you agree to go?"

"Well, you know," Hiyori says. He holds Ikuya's gaze, and finds himself fighting a blush, grateful for the low light. "I figured since you were there, there was a pretty good chance that I'd have fun. And I did. I'm glad I went." 

He's not sure he's seeing it right at first, but then the smile on Ikuya's face grows into something unmistakable, small, but fond. "Oh," he says. And then, "I'm glad you came with me."

Hiyori smiles. "Thanks." That's all he can really ask for.

* * *

It finally occurs to him, staring up at his ceiling that evening, that Ikuya isn't giving up on him. And it's realizing that that resolves him to find a way to change, no matter what.

If Ikuya wants to get to know him better, then he owes it to him to become someone worth getting to know. At the moment, he has so little to offer that he's going to have to take it slow. But that's okay, because Ikuya is willing to wait, and he's willing to fix the place he's in so that he's worth it in the end.

Ikuya is more than worth that to him, and honestly, Hiyori is worth that to himself.

Well, it's like having a guest over, right? You should really only do it when you have a decent space. He rolls up his proverbial sleeves and rolls over in bed and promises himself that he will start working.

He won't let himself stop until he's someone who's worth the years that Ikuya has spent by his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- About the conversation between Makoto and Hiyori: I'm not (and Makoto isn't) trying to say that Haruka is or isn’t on any specific neurodivergent spectrum—Makoto's not a doctor and that isn’t the point. Still, I wanted to explain my reasoning for why Makoto's willing to talk with Hiyori about this. A, Japanese people are quite willing to talk about people behind other people's backs and get all up in each others' business. (Seriously, it isn't just an anime trope, people are really like that sometimes—not universally, of course, but definitely sometimes.) B, Makoto wants to trust Hiyori—and does trust him not to abuse this information, which he won't. C, Haruka isn’t having the issues Makoto talks about on the same level anymore. But in the US, especially in some of the communities I'm familiar with, this kind of conversation _still_ probably wouldn’t be okay. 
> 
> \- If you're wondering why Rei is worried about sunscreen today specifically, when he swims outide all the time—I looked into UV levels recently, and the risk really drops off in the afternoons. The riskiest times are usually between 10 AM and 2 PM, depending on the weather and the time of year. Rei is definitely the sort of person who would know this.
> 
> \- In this fic, Hiyori is significantly nearsighted. (Please feel free to consider whether or not he has prescription goggles; if so, when he got them; and/or about how scary it would've been not to be able to see clearly when rescuing Ikuya in middle school.)
> 
> * * *
> 
> Anyway, Happy Single’s Awareness Day! Have a Hiyori who is _very_ aware of being single while pining on the rocks like the sad mermaid he is. (In case I didn't make it clear: Ikuya definitely saw him doing that.)
> 
> No but actually: no matter where you are with love in your life, of any kind, whatever your lack, please remember that you are infinitely lovable and deserving of support. May we all find—and give—even more love in the year to come. ❤
> 
>  **Next time:** Hiyori gets an unexpected pen pal, and more content warnings, whee. (Also, first and probably last direct references to the extra scenes in _Road to the World_.) 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	5. Tangled Exchanges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Please mind the **content & spoiler warnings** on this chapter!] 
> 
> Hiyori runs into an unexpected obstacle in the form of Kaede Kinjou.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Content warning:** This chapter contains content related to trauma response/flashbacks, cyber- and IRL bullying (physical and verbal abuse), and general themes of harassment. There's a summary at the Notes at the bottom of the chapter with additional details; please check it if you need it!
> 
> Also, there are **spoilers** in this for the _Road to the World_ movie. (While the movie was mostly scenes from s3 put in a different order—with a lot of Hiyori's and Ikuya's scenes cut out, btw—there were some new ones as well, and part of this chapter centers on a big one near the end.) 
> 
> If you're confused by this chapter, and/or haven't seen the movie, there's a quick summary of the relevant scene at the bottom of this chapter as well, along with the warning/summary. I'm taking some liberties with the timeline of the scene because I can't figure out where it happened in canon.
> 
> I hope they announce the DVD soon, because I really want to watch this movie again! (Preferably with subtitles in some language or other, so I can pause and figure out exactly what's being said.) In the meantime, onwards!

"Hiyori." 

Ikuya's voice usually takes his attention automatically, but Hiyori's gaze doesn't waver from the time up on the board. He can hardly believe his eyes, and the sounds around him, the cheering and quiet commiserations alike, don't really make it through. 

One sound he does hear with perfect clarity, though. He shouldn't be able to hear Kinjo's low, self-satisfied huff, but he does. The sound drags Hiyori's gaze down to him, several lanes away, as he turns away and removes his cap with a flourish. 

He shouldn't be able to see Kinjo's gleeful glance from halfway across the pool and be sure that it's directed at him, but he can, and he is. 

Ikuya's voice comes again, insistent. " _Hiyori._ Hey." 

He shakes himself and turns to look at Ikuya. He's close, close enough that part of him takes an incautious step back, almost slipping on the wet poolside. His hand gets squeezed, and that's the only reason that Hiyori realizes Ikuya's still holding it from when he helped Hiyori out of the pool. 

"Sorry," he says. The word rushes out on a sigh, heavier than he'd meant, but also not heavy enough. He still can't believe the orange numbers glowing in his head. 

He hadn't just done badly. In a practice, a time like that would have been a fluke, something to laugh off, but in a meet? Terrible. He hadn't been last, but he'd missed the qualifying time by a mile. 

"It's fine," Ikuya says, more firmly than for just an apology. "Come on. Everyone's showering." 

"Right," Hiyori says, and his hand closes on nothing as Ikuya breaks away and leads the way to the lockers. 

It isn't fine, though. He lost. Kinjo won. That shouldn't be surprising; Kinjo had told him he'd win. But by that much? That Hiyori had done that badly? It rankles. 

It rankles worse than the feeling of fabric scraping his neck, than the angry breath in his face and the fire of Kinjo's glare. It's stronger than the memory of Ikuya's voice, than the feeling of his shoulder just brushing Hiyori's collarbone as he stepped in front of him, before the meet even began. 

It stings, and it brings with it feelings Hiyori would have been all to happy never to revisit.

* * *

He hadn't understood what Kinjo had wanted, before the event. He'd been preparing himself for the meet on his own, for once, away from Ikuya and the others. He'd found a stray cat and was saying hello when Kinjo had come out of nowhere and started threatening him, grabbed him by the collar, started yelling...

Something in Hiyori had frozen as his mind had desperately scrambled for context. Why him, why Kinjo, why now? What had he done, what impression had he given off, what had Kinjo _heard_ about him—

—and his heart had started hammering and his skull had reverberated with shouts and hot asphalt under his hands and the taste of blood in his mouth and fabric burns in his skin and stains on his shirt and words he didn't understand shouted overhead on the too-wide, empty street—

And then Ikuya had been there, and Hiyori had, for a moment, been more scared than ever. Ikuya had no fear, not in a situation like this; he was a small bundle of vehemence and pride, and if pushed, he _would_ start a fight...but there had been people to back him up, thankfully. Sousuke was the sort of person that anybody would think twice before starting a fight in front of, and there was no way Natsuya wouldn't have his little brother's back. 

Ikuya was safe. He'd put Hiyori under his protection, and he had allies, and that meant Hiyori was safe, too. And Kinjo had realized this as well. He'd spat some more poison and a promise that he would win before turning to leave. 

Hiyori didn't care less, in that moment, who would win or lose in the races to come. He was just grateful that it was over, that Kinjo had gone, and that his own memories were the loudest thing left on that sidewalk, over-reacting to a few shallow similarities and already fading back into the long-forgotten past where they belonged. 

But something has been...off, ever since then. He answered the others' questions about Kinjo—he had no clue what his issue was, but apparently he'd had taken offense to the large circle of acquaintances Hiyori was incidentally at the fringe of, and had taken their acquaintance as an opportunity to lash out at whatever was bothering him. 

It helps, knowing why. Knowing part of why. But not as much as he would have thought, because there is so much that is still uncertain. He's rattled. He wouldn't have guessed that about himself, that something like this, out of the blue from someone he'd never considered particularly significant, could bother him. 

(Could _still_ bother him.)

He should have known. He hadn't. 

* * *

A hand lands on his shoulder, cold under the lukewarm shower spray. 

"Hey," Ikuya says. 

Hiyori jumps. "Guh," he says, unintelligible. 

Ikuya's frowning at him. "Get out of there so we can talk." 

Hiyori hadn't realized there was going to be talking. He's answered Ikuya's questions already, told him all he knows, but he's made this a problem, so now he's going to have to find a way to...be normal. Or as close as he could ever manage. 

"Sure," he starts to say, but Ikuya is already heading back towards the lockers, rubbing his towel over his hair. 

Hiyori shuts off the shower, shivers, reaches for his own towel outside the stall. 

His hair dries faster than Ikuya's, but it's still cold against his scalp as the two of them leave, behind the rest of the team on the way to the bus. 

"So..." The word hangs off Ikuya's tongue, reluctant, and Hiyori feels guilt take deeper root in his stomach. Ikuya doesn't want to ask about this, but Hiyori has put him in a situation where he feels he has to. "Bad races happen," Ikuya continues, still looking awkward. "It's not the end of the world. It was an off day." 

"Yeah," Hiyori says, grateful. Maybe Ikuya will leave it at that. 

"Did that Kinjo guy get to you?" 

"I don't think so," Hiyori says. "Not really. I mean, it was a little surprising, and I think I let that throw me off a little, but it won't happen again." 

Ikuya frowns. "Are you sure? I mean, we aren't going to let him anywhere near you again, obviously, but..." 

Hiyori feels an odd little shiver down his spine at the way Ikuya says that, but the guilt drowns most of the feeling out. "Well...he did win," he says, and the words sound hollow in his chest. "He said he would, and he did. Maybe he'll be satisfied with that." 

"He better not be," Ikuya says, voice dark, but then he turns and looks Hiyori in the eye. It takes Hiyori a second to recognize the smirk on Ikuya's face, because he hadn't expected it. "We're going to get him next time, after all. He'll need to get used to losing gracefully sooner or later."

Hiyori manages a weak chuckle at that. "There is that." 

"Of course," Ikuya echoes, a little mocking, and bumps his arm. "Come on. He caught you by surprise this time. It doesn't matter, not in the long run."

"You're right," Hiyori says, because he is. This wasn't a qualifying race, was almost more of a social event before a slow period in the winter. "It doesn't matter."

He takes a deep breath, and lets it out, before meeting Ikuya's gaze squarely. He smiles, faintly, and it feels odd on his face, because this...it feels new. It can't be the first time Ikuya reassured him, but it does feel different from anything he can remember. 

"Thanks, Ikuya," he says, and it seems like so little to say, but he means it. 

Ikuya smiles back more widely at him—another smile, a new one, and steps back to their normal way of walking, a step or so ahead. Lets the matter drop, graceful, and starts talking about their training schedule. 

Hiyori thinks that he's okay with this, as they climb onto their bus with the others. It sucks, he's never had a fluke like this before, but he'll get over it. 

They part at the entrance to their dorm a little while later, so Hiyori's surprised when he fishes out his phone after closing his door behind him and sees a notification on his phone. He opens the message before the name on the notification registers. 

_did your boyfriend kiss your ego better yet, loser_

Hiyori blinks down at the screen, every thought in his brought to an absolute halt. He has to drag his eyes away from the message, and his heart seems to constrict to a single, excruciating point as he sees what's written below it. 

_guess who_

No, this isn't over. It takes the rest of the night for Hiyori to accept that, but he manages. 

His eyes slide shut, more hours later than he'd like, on a resolution: this ends with him. Whatever conspiracy Kinjo might be planning to turn loose on Ikuya and his unsuspecting friends, he picked the wrong weak link. He picked an outsider, not one of their actual circle, and—Hiyori tells himself—it's going to be a pleasure, the best kind of revenge possible, to watch Kinjo try and fail to get a rise out of people who he'll stand in the shadow for the rest of his sad little career. 

* * *

(Hiyori wakes, by his reckoning, less than twenty minutes after he finally slips into sleep, to the sensation of being tugged up from the ground by the front of his shirt. He smooths a hand down his unbruised chest, licks his unscabbed lips, and turns over, keeping a stubborn smile on his face until he falls asleep again.) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings-related summary of this chapter:** Before a meet, Kinjo verbally and physically assaults Hiyori, causing him to experience short flashbacks to an unspecified event where he experienced physical and verbal abuse in the past. Ikuya and some other people step in to get Kinjo to back off, but later that night, Kinjo starts sending Hiyori harassing messages on his phone. 
> 
> * * *
> 
> **Movie spoilers:** Okay, so those of you who haven't seen _Road to the World_ probably have some questions! Basic info you need to know: Kinjo and Hiyori went to the same...school...for a bit. I think it was just Hiyori, so it must've been a time when he and Ikuya weren't attending school together, presumably in Japan but I don't know what's going on with that. Hiyori's coaxing a stray cat out of some bushes when Kinjo goes after him because how dare he and Haru's posse have _friends_ when they want to win at _swimming_ because everyone knows that having friends _holds you back_ , etc.
> 
> It's worth noting that (as I remember it, anyway) Kinjo hauls Hiyori up by the front of his shirt and shouts in his face and Hiyori just sort of grimaces and goes limp, without trying to defend himself at all. For a guy who likes to act menacing and loom over people when it suits him, I was surprised by his lack of response.
> 
> Ikuya shows up, Sousuke and Natsuya back him up, and together they make Kinjo back off. Hiyori gets just a bit behind Ikuya as soon as he gets the chance. After Kinjo leaves, Hiyori explains that they were barely acquaintances and he's not sure what made Kinjo decide to go after him specifically. 
> 
> So yeah, that's where (half of) this particular subplot came from. (The flashbacks and what happen after are all me.) I was really happy to see those extra scenes in the movie, because especially with all the scene cuts they did, I was pretty sure HiyoIku were a s3 exclusive subplot that was going to disappear from future stuff. This specific scene made me think otherwise, so of course I'm taking it and running with it. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	6. Substitutions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hiyori keeps trying to meet other people. Kinjo makes it harder; Kisumi makes it easier. (Please note the content warnings!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Content warning** for bullying/stalking behaviors in this chapter. (See the notes at the bottom of this chapter for details.)

Hiyori tries—he really, truly does—to set up a strategy to counter what Kinjo's doing. But he runs into some problems quickly. 

First of all, his attempts to gather information fall flat. He doesn't know anyone who goes to the same school as Kinjo does, Kinjo has no social media profiles worth speaking of, and it's not like he has any real-world social networks, either. Hiyori isn't above bringing this to a higher authority if it comes to that, but he doubts his ability to convince anyone who does know Kinjo—who would that even be, besides his coaches?— to give him any intel in the meantime. 

And then there's the part where Kinjo doesn't _do_ anything. 

After that first message, there's nothing, for days. Hiyori buries his nose in books and concentrates twice as hard on swimming during practice and just doesn't think about it, letting it fall away until the next time a message comes. 

They're always derisive but fall short of actual abuse—nothing anywhere near as threatening as that first face-to-face encounter. Hiyori, at first, intends to ignore him, but there's a message one evening after dinner that changes his policy on that. 

_If you keep ignoring me,_ Kinjo texts, _I could find Kirishima's number next._

Hiyori takes two steady breaths, thinks over what reply he'll send, before he starts typing. 

_I'm pretty sure that would constitute harassment. You two are practically strangers._

_good thing you and me are acquaintances._

_If I'm what you consider an acquaintance, I'd hate to be your enemy._

_good. don't really have time for that anyway._

Hiyori deems it safe to put his phone down for a bit after that, but from that night on, he makes a point of checking it every few hours. Containing Kinjo is going to keep him on a short leash for the near future, possibly, but it's still the least trouble for everyone involved.

Kinjo's messages are...abrasive, and they stay that way. He never goes into specifics, but he gloats over training often. Hiyori always politely congratulates him, says his own training's going well, and refuses to give details about anyone else's. 

His training isn't actually the best lately, but to admit that would be to tip the balance of the frigid politeness that he's hiding behind, hoping to string Kinjo along indefinitely without him getting too bored. 

It becomes second nature at some point. Besides, the longer it goes on, the more he finds he's perversely interested in what this particular troll is trying to accomplish. 

* * *

That interest lasts until the end of the month, when Hiyori caves to his first unexpected texting buddy and finds the time to come back to Kisumi's basketball circle. 

It's more or less the same as before. More jackets than T-shirts this time, as the weather is finally taking a turn for the cold, and the damp skies have turned a few people away, so the group is smaller than usual. The foreigner from before is absent, too. 

He's arrived before the games can start this time, just a few people dribbling around and shooting hoops for the fun of it. He calls out to Kisumi from a small knot of people, heading over, when....

"Toono!" 

Hiyori freezes at the unexpected use of his name, and turns just as something hard and hot as a brand strikes across his shoulders, jarring his collarbone as it hooks just a little too tight. 

It's only Hiyori's instinct to freeze that saves him from panicking and throwing the arm off as he recognizes the bright orange hair, the too-wide smirk. 

"Wasn't sure you'd make it this week," Kinjo says, grinning. "Basketball, huh? You've got some interesting hobbies." 

Hiyori just stares at Kinjo, but brings himself back to life a second later, seeing a pink-haired figure coming their way. "Kinjo? What are you doing here?" 

"Wanted a little extra cardio," Kinjo said. "Heard about this club. I've been coming for the last few weeks." His grip around Hiyori's shoulder tightens. "They're very welcoming, letting me join even though I don't go to the same school." 

"Glad to hear it," Hiyori grits out, and then struggles against Kinjo's grip to turn to Kisumi. "Hey, how's it going?"

"Hey, Hiyori!" Kisumi's grinning, looking between them. "Oh hey, Kinjo, right? Do you two know each other?" 

"Yeah, Me and Toono go _way_ back," Kinjo says easily, and Hiyori internally bristles at his name casually thrown around by that arrogant mouth. "I've been meaning to wipe the floor with him for a while." He gives Hiyori a jab with his elbow that probably looks playful, but his ribs protest vehemently and he fights a wince. "What do you say, ready for a match?" 

Hiyori's smart mouth, ironically the stupidest part of him, answers before the rest of him can think about it, dragging the rest of his expression along in its wake. "I don't know," he drawls. "Last I heard, you were still a swimming fiend, Kinjo. Do you even know the rules of basketball?" 

Kinjo laughs, full-throated and just a little too loud, cutting off too soon. "This isn't like swimming. It's _easy._ You won't know what hit you." 

Hiyori bites out a laugh. "I'm looking forward to it." 

He can't help but keep an eye on Kisumi as they talk, as Kinjou finally removes his arm and shoves him towards the opposing team. Kisumi is...hard to read, and Hiyori can't tell what he thinks of this new, noisy rivalry that's appeared in the middle of his circle's court. 

He's playing this by ear, picking up the cues that are thrown his way. It turns out that Kinjo meant the _hitting_ literally, checking most of the players on the team within minutes of starting, and Hiyori won't stoop to that but he _does_ start shadowing him around the court, dealing with him so no one else has to. 

He doesn't remember how many of the other members met him the last time he came there, but he gets the feeling that this time he is giving off a very different impression. It's all hard-edged smiles and throwing around his size and bulk (not that he and Kinjo aren't the same size, but they are), and it's...hard-edged and reckless and he doesn't like it at all. 

He feels bad. 

He doesn't want to be here, be doing this, but...he's not doing bad, either. His basketball isn't as bad as it could be, either. Despite the lack of practice, he scores twice this time, rather than once. He doesn't even wince when Kinjo aims a sharp elbow directly into his solar plexus. He misses, and Hiyori feels the budding bruise as he jostles himself away, but he flashes Kinjo a smile nonetheless. 

There is a rhythm to this. Antagonism is...surprisingly easy. And it helps that Hiyori's team wins, that Kinjo's team never even pulls ahead. Hiyori is gracious in victory, as much as he can be under the circumstances, though Kinjo smirks back at him when he lets his smile turn a little mean. 

He plays one game, and then calls out before the next teams could be decided, Hiyori calls out casually. "Hey, Kisumi." 

Kisumi turns. "What's up?" 

"I think I'm gonna have to leave early, but can I have a word real quick?" 

Kisumi makes his apologies and waves to the others, following after Hiyori at a jog. "What's going on, Hiyori?"

"I..." Hiyori takes a deep breath, tries to hold onto the mean spirit that's been growing in him all day. It's drained away even faster than he was expecting. "I don't...actually like basketball," he says, and his resolve already starts to crumble. "I mean, I really appreciate that you invited me, it means a lot, it's just..." 

"Is this about Kinjo?" 

Hiyori blinks at the straightforward way that Kisumi says it. "It's..." He swallows. "Not exactly, but...he's been here for a few weeks already, right?" 

Kisumi nods, but he's frowning. "Yeah, but..." 

"I don't want to start anything," Hiyori says simply. "I'm...really glad that you gave me this chance to meet people, but I don't..." He pauses. "You're in a lot of circles, right? You know a lot of people?" 

"Yeah." 

Hiyori makes an apologetic face. "Is there anything else you can recommend...?" 

Kisumi's expression brightens a bit, some of the normal playful spark coming back. "Sure," he said. "I've got your info, I'll let you know the next time I've got a thing."

Hiyori tells himself to smile back, but realizes that he's doing it already. Kisumi, it seems, is impossible not to like. "Thanks," he says. It comes out a little raw. "Sorry for the trouble."

"I think that should be my line," Kisumi says, shaking his head. "Look, you shouldn't have to—"

"I don't _have_ to do anything," Hiyori says. "Don't worry, you're the one doing _me_ a favor. I won't forget it."

"If you say so," Kisumi says. "You're...a pretty chill guy sometimes, aren't you?"

Hiyori shrugs—he doesn't think it's accurate to go that far. "I guess. I'll see you around, Kisumi."

"Yeah, man, later."

* * *

Kisumi is as good as his word. Once or twice a week, from then on, he sends Hiyori messages about get-togethers he's going to, or failing that, ones he knows about. It's a ton of work to put him through, but Kisumi never even complains. The guilt from that alone would have had Hiyori going more often than not, and between that and the sense that he needs to keep trying, he usually ends up going to events whenever they fit comfortably into his schedule. 

He attends a trial cooking class. He joins in with more strangers at karaoke. He goes to an art show, and an anime convention. There's a handful of pickup sports events, but basketball doesn't come up again. In fact, Kisumi never suggests the same place twice. 

Kisumi's invitations help. Really, they do. Without them, Hiyori's fairly sure that this little initiative of his would have failed by now, and he would have already given up and returned to being a hermit with too much free time in which to bother Ikuya. But still... 

It's one thing to be reminded how bad he is at making friends. What's worse is that, by the third or fourth random thing Kisumi invites him to, he realizes that he can't avoid the truth anymore: he doesn't even _want_ to. 

He has no interest in these people. It's a relief that he can _fake_ interest well enough that no one calls him on it, but at the same time, the thought of it extending any of the interactions he's had beyond the length of a brief acquaintance, even into something that's supposed to be friendship...

He just doesn't care. It probably makes him an even more horrible person than he'd already thought, that he _doesn't care._

It doesn't matter anyway, though. He isn't going to give up. There have to be some people that are more interesting to him than the ones he's met already. Or, if there aren't, then at least he can get better at this in some other way. 

Even if the idea of being around people he doesn't give two fucks about for the rest of his life is exhausting to the point of being a little terrifying, the alternative is worse. 

If he doesn't let some of the pressure of his continual presence off of Ikuya, then it's going to all be over. Better bitter with a social circle he doesn't want, and Ikuya still in his life sometimes, than an Ikuya who has deservedly fled his life entirely. 

* * *

November passes in an odd haze of bits and pieces that don't line up. Tokyo gets colder, and Hiyori starts wearing more layers under his favorite jacket.

Things with Ikuya are normal—Hiyori won't let them be anything less. Ikuya does ask him what he's doing more than before, though, which is...odd. When it's Kinjo he's messaging, he makes excuses. When it's Kisumi, he usually tells Ikuya about it, and while Ikuya's reactions are a little bland, Hiyori thinks that he approves.

(He continues to ward off Kinjo's messages. It becomes almost automatic, though he tries to keep his guard up. He has the feeling that Kinjo might change his game if he gets bored, but in the meantime it's nice to be able to think about it a little less.) 

Between his newfound social obligations, Ikuya, swim practice, and his studies, Hiyori's schedule is oddly full, and it's only when he's out on Kisumi's outings when he thinks much about other ways he could (should) be getting out more.

It's at the end of a (frankly overpriced) pottery class that a random idea occurs to him. 

"...Do you know about any literature clubs?" 

It's one of those times that Hiyori thinks a thing and it's out of his mouth before he does the usual "pass. vet, rethink, tone it down, let it out" process. The second he thinks it is the second he says it, but he's immediately sure that it's one of the best ideas he's had so far. 

"Hm?" Kisumi pushes his fancy ice cream to one side of his mouth and gives Hiyori an appraising look. "Do you mean at your school, or mine? Because either way they probably exist, but I don't know any offhand." 

...So the stupid thing was asking Kisumi instead of checking for himself. Of course there was something. "I guess I should look into it," Hiyori says, but even the small faux pas isn't enough to kill his sudden enthusiasm about the idea. 

"I'll ask, too," Kisumi says. "I mean, I bet there are tons of book clubs. The trick is finding one you're interested in. I've seen you read before, but I wasn't sure if you liked to talk about it. You kind of disappeared into a book during that beach trip, and everything." 

"Oh," Hiyori says. "Right." He doesn't really make a thing of it anymore, he supposes—hasn't for years, because he's really only cared about Ikuya and Ikuya doesn't care about reading, and besides he's ended up with athletic types most of his life at this point. He's used to being an outlier. 

Kisumi raises an eyebrow at him. "So...what sort of stuff do you like to read?" 

"Uh...this and that," Hiyori admits. Immediately he feels like a fraud—sure, he's been reading here and there, but purely on whims, and he doesn't finish even all the books he checks out a lot of the time. Would he even be able to keep up with a college-level book club? 

(He recognizes the false modesty even as he thinks it. Of _course_ he can keep up. He hasn't had problems with a piece of literature he's picked up since middle school, and he occasionally sees his classmates' essays. He'll be fine.) 

"If I see anything, I'll pass it along," Kisumi promises. 

Hiyori smiles, and thinks again how Kisumi is unique, compared to the others he's met through him. Their hobbies and interests seem to be pretty fundamentally different, but he's such a friendly, _good_ person that it's like that doesn't matter. 

"Do you like anything else?" Kisumi adds, after taking a thoughtful bite of his ice cream. Hiyori's teeth ache in sympathy, even as he pauses, trying to come up with an honest answer. Kisumi knows he likes swimming, and cafés, and now reading. What else is there? 

The truth of the matter is one of those things that he tries not to let himself even think in front of other people: _I like Ikuya._

It's a silly answer, and it's not one that will help Kisumi help him. So instead he tries to appreciate the feeling of someone else next to him, the sense people other than Ikuya existing in the world and occasionally even being kind and interesting. 

"I...'ll let you know," Hiyori says, trying to keep things light, and Kisumi grins.

"Okay," he says. "I'll see what I can find in the meantime."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content warning summary:** In addition to his cyberbullying before, Kinjo threatents to start harassing Ikuya instead if Hiyori doesn't respond respond to him, so they continue exchanging messages. Shortly thereafter, Hiyori discovers that Kinjo has joined Kisumi's basketball circle, presumably to torment him, and quits.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Aaand here's another chapter with barely any Ikuya in it, oops. I'm working on it, but he may not appear very much in the next one, either. He'll be coming back soon either way, though, so in the meantime thank you for your patience! 
> 
> **Next time:** Hiyori may have found some actual potential friends, entirely by accident. There are unintended consequences.


	7. Departures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hiyori walks out on one date, and sets up another. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! I know I said I was going to have mostly shorter chapters, but here's another longer one regardless. 
> 
> I've recently rewritten the summary and changed some of the tags. Warnings will still come chapter by chapter, though.

It takes a while, but Hiyori finally hits on an odd strategy for getting Kinjo to leave him alone every so often. It was accidental at first, but it's by turns effective in getting him to be civil and earning Hiyori a brief respite.

It's surprisingly simple. All he has to do is ask questions. 

Sometimes all he gets back is an insult, but that still buys him hours or days. Other times, though, especially after two or three such exchanges in a row, Kinjo will actually answer. Hiyori learns more about him, though he honestly the experience of Kinjo being halfway civil is much more interesting to him than his actual answers. 

He has favorite sportswear brands, but no favorite books or movies. He doesn't watch TV but he'll play some video games; Hiyori immediately concedes that Kinjo would win anything they played, because he _would._ Kinjo will send him pictures and screenshots of his times, too, and that's a weird set of interactions, because half the time when Hiyori asks about his practice, he'll answer proudly, and the other half of the time he'll get paranoid and refuse to share his secrets. 

Still, the days when they have something else to talk about are the good days, and Hiyori takes them when he can get them. 

He does occasionally wonder how long it'll take Kinjo to realize he's playing nice on purpose, but it really does seem to be consistently effective. He's still not...pleasant to talk to this way, and given half a chance Hiyori would block him and not look back, but it's more pleasant than they were at first, and that's not nothing. 

* * *

Kisumi's messages have a way of brightening his day, especially by comparison to Kinjo. It's nice to get a message from his phone and have it be someone he actually wants to talk to. 

(He gets more messages from Ikuya than he used to, as well, but they hardly ever have actual substance—they're just to coordinate their schedules. As much as he likes spending time with Ikuya, it isn't the same.)

He's with Ikuya, studying in his room after dinner, when his phone buzzes. He pulls it out, trying to be surreptitious—Kinjo could and did blow up his phone when ignored at this time of day—and feels a small bubble of happiness when he sees it's not from Kinjo, but Kisumi. 

He opens the message, reads it...and then puts his head down on his book and sighs, trying to be quiet. 

It's another invitation, but...a _goukon_? Really? 

He's started to type out a polite refusal when another message comes in—a plea, because one of the girls is bringing a friend and there's going to be an uneven number of people. 

Hiyori frowns down at his phone, and sighs. It's rare for Kisumi to beg him for anything, and that makes it hard to deny him a favor when he _does_ ask. 

"What's up?" Ikuya asks, and Hiyori looks up, pocketing his phone by reflex. Right—he shouldn't have let himself get distracted. 

"Kisumi being annoying," he says, and chuckles. "Does he ever bother you this much?" 

"He knows I'm busy," Ikuya says. "Just tell him to leave you alone if it's a bother." 

Hiyori shrugs, mouth twisting. "It's...fine," he says, with a weak chuckle. 

Ikuya gives him an inscrutable look, but then turns back to his textbook. Hiyori looks down at his own book, but he's still thinking. 

If he's got a chance to do something for Kisumi for once, he kind of wants to take it. A _goukon_ is basically a blind date with even less commitment; he's not exactly used to talking to girls, but it's not the most intimidating thing in the world, either. He can sit through a few hours of talking with random girls for Kisumi's sake. 

Before going to bed that night, he tells Kisumi that he'll go. 

* * *

It's a Saturday afternoon, and Hiyori's in his same old coat with a slightly nicer shirt and slacks than usual underneath. He's not remotely interested in finding someone to date, but he figures it would still be rude not to at least clean up a bit for something like this. 

Besides, maybe Kisumi will be taking this seriously. He hasn't heard anything about Kisumi looking for a girlfriend, but of the people Hiyori talks to on a regular basis, he's definitely the one whose college life is closest to normal. It's well within the realm of possibility. 

He finds Kisumi's distinctive hair in the crowd outside the building in his directions and and waves, using his height to his advantage. Kisumi spots him and brightens, waving him over. He's better at doing introductions than Ikuya was at the beach party, but Hiyori hasn't really improved at comprehending them; short of everyone wearing name tags, he's sure he won't be able to keep everyone's names straight. He stays as close to Kisumi as he thinks he can get away with, and follows his lead in the conversation, obediently scanning the crowd when Kisumi says they're only waiting on a couple more people. 

"Let's see, their names are Noemi-san and...uh..." Kisumi's looking at his phone, but then looks up at the rest of the group. "I'm just going to let her pronounce it, I'm not sure I'd get it right. But she's Australian, apparently!" 

Hiyori, scanning the crowd, blinks as he spots an undeniably foreign, white-skinned girl with a fading bright-green dye job winding through the crowd. She's got a smaller girl next to her who looks Japanese, and he can also hear her from a dozen feet away. 

"Is that them?" she's asking, in English, and the girl with her stands on tiptoe to see through the crowd, shading her brow with her hand. "Shigino-san, right?" 

Kisumi reacts to his name, turning and pumping a hand enthusiastically. "Oh, hi!" he says in stilted English. "Over here!" 

The girls come over. In addition to standing out because of the hair, she's tall, almost matching Hiyori in height. "Hello," she says, waving brightly. "I'm—uh, wait, is English okay?" 

The girl steps forward. "I'm Noemi," she says, in Japanese, "but please call me Emi. This is Tiff." She pronounces the name carefully. "She's studying Japanese very hard, so please be kind to her." 

Tiff blushes. "It's short for Tiffany," she mutters, low and fast, "and I'm not _that_ good at studying." 

Emi smiles, apparently having understood, as Kisumi jumps forward to continue introductions. Tiffany—Tiff—looks as lost as Hiyori feels, and he's a little glad that he's not the only one who does. Everyone else seems so nice and polished, and he can relate to the way that Tiff looks pleased when the introductions are done, tugging at Noemi's shoulder to get her attention and muttering to her. 

"So, who's dating who?" she says aside to her, and Emi looks between the group and Tiff. As Hiyori watches, she bites her lip and looks around the group, looking increasingly uncomfortable. There's a few knots of girls and boys forming, all laughing together, sizing each other up. Hiyori's been hiding behind Kisumi for the most part, but everyone else's behavior seems fairly normal to him; he wonders why Emi looks so uncomfortable. 

"...What did Sam tell you about this event?" Emi asks. 

"He said it was, like, a group date," Tiff said. 

"Did he give you the _Japanese_ word?" Emi persists, even more quietly. 

Hiyori pulls out his phone to check something before he stops to think about it, and then steps quietly over to them. Emi stiffens a little bit, and he makes his smile as gently as he can, to put her at ease. 

"I'm sorry," he says as smoothly as he can, in quiet English. "I couldn't help overhearing. This is a _goukon,_ like...a mixer." He only just found the term on his phone, and he's not completely sure of it, but he tries to say it confidently anyway. "It's to get to know new people, but it's not exactly dating. It's...just for fun," he adds, tentative, because he's increasingly sure he's said something wrong. 

Emi looks just as uncomfortable as when he'd started talking, and has turned a bit towards Tiff with a pained look on her face. Tiff, meanwhile, is frowning less in a way that means she doesn't get it; instead, she looks increasingly flustered. 

"Oh," she says. "I thought it was like...a group date. Like..." 

"It's okay," Emi says suddenly, voice high and bright, and Hiyori feels a few heads behind him turn. "This will be fun!" She giggles and latches onto Tiff's arm, and Tiff looks down at her with an unhappy little grin—

And Hiyori gets the stomach-wrenching feeling that he has an idea what might be going on. 

"Sure," Tiff says, suddenly in Japanese. "Fun." She smiles, warmer but still a little off, and the tips of her ears have gone noticeably pink. 

Hiyori bites his lip, looking between them. "The boys and girls usually sit in two groups," he says quietly. "If you're...nervous, you'll be next to each other the whole time. It's fine to just talk to each other." 

"Yeah, won't be a problem," Tiff insists, and Emi nods with her, and it occurs to Hiyori that they both seem miserable. He doesn't know why he thinks it, because they're both smiling, but he does. 

"Hey, don't monopolize the new girls," one of the boys calls in Japanese. It isn't Kisumi, and Hiyori resists the urge to glare. Instead, he pretends he doesn't hear it, and steps back a little towards the group.

"We'll be heading in soon, I think," he says to them. "Are you ready?" It can't hurt to give them one more chance to back out, after all. 

"Sure," Tiff says, and her voice is resolute as she steps forward. "If that's okay with you, Em?" 

Out of sight to everyone but Hiyori as they step past him, Emi squeezes Tiff's arm. "Sure," she says. "Just follow my lead." 

The group changes from a loose ring into a little knot, and soon, they're off the sidewalk and into the elevators, up to the restaurant. It's a cute little place, the sort of thing that has only a few items on a rotating set menu, with warm dark wood everywhere and menu items drawn on chalkboards behind the bar. Normally, Hiyori might have hung around in search of a quiet moment to take pictures, but today he follows the rest of the group to the reserved table in the back corner. 

He manages to sit near Tiff and Emi, but Emi doesn't seem to be having any trouble explaining to Tiff what's on the menu, so he doesn't intrude, and soon it's time for longer introductions. 

He stumbles through his without too much trouble. Everyone asks about swimming; it's weird to talk to people who don't know everything about it already. He has to cut himself off from longer responses, redirecting to the next person in the lineup. From the way everyone immediately refocuses, they hadn't actually been interested anyway. 

There's some discussions of games to play, but Hiyori doesn't have any opinion on them either way. Kisumi doesn't seem to have much of one, either, though he immediately vetoes a few of the choices. Then drinks come, and everyone is distracted by the prospect of food orders, breaking off into smaller discussions. 

Hiyori turns back to the two girls, Tiff and Emi. As he'd suggested, they're sitting together, just a little closer to each other than the tables are forcing them to be. It could be interpreted as moral support in an unfamiliar place, but... 

"So," he begins, voice carefully light and neutral, and in English again both for Tiff's sake and for privacy. "You thought this was going to be a group date?" 

Emi stiffens in her seat, and her arm shifts a bit, her free hand not visible under the table. "Um..." 

"Is that going to be a problem?" Tiff's voice is low, but has a rough edge. She's quiet about it, probably so as not to draw attention, but her glare is hard to mistake. 

Hiyori doesn't want to scare her, though, and oddly enough, thinking about that keeps him from being scared _of_ her. "There's nothing wrong with it," he's saying. "I was just thinking, that must be uncomfortable, coming here and finding out it's not." He takes a gamble without even thinking about it, because he doesn't want to offend. "If it were me, I probably wouldn't stay." 

Emi gives him a long and complicated look. Hiyori knows what it sounds like he could be implying, saying that, but he's fine with the implication. 

"I wasn't sure we'd be staying anyway," Tiff admits, seemingly deflating a bit. "This isn't _that_ different." 

"I should have known better," Emi mutters. "I should have checked what kind of event it was." 

Hiyori frowns. Tiff looks quietly ready to fly off the handle at a moment's provocation, but Emi, equally quietly, looks straightforwardly scared. Tiff shifts her arm and Hiyori realizes they're holding hands under the table. 

"It's okay," Hiyori says quietly. "It's an...unlucky misunderstanding. I'm just wondering if you're really okay with staying." 

Emi nods, but her jaw is tight. So is Tiff's, but it looks like her anger is turning inwards. 

"I'm an idiot," she says. "I just thought...Sam said that this Kisumi guy invited him on a _group date,_ and I made a shitload of assumptions, and now..." 

Oh. That makes sense, but Hiyori's distracted by the name. "Sam? Are you attending Hidaka, Tiff?" 

"Hm? Yeah, I'm an exchange student," Tiff says. "I have this friend, Sam, he's also studying abroad and he...” 

Hiyori sighs to himself as he listens to her explanation, his suspicions from earlier confirmed. With another foreigner in front of him, it doesn't take long to make the connection.

"...but he couldn't come this time, so he asked me if me and Emi wanted to go," Tiff finishes. "I don't think...he might not've understood what it was." 

"I see," Hiyori says. He coughs, and shifts a little. "You might want to tell Sam the next time you see him, that wasn't Kisumi asking him out on a date. Just in case he doesn't know." 

"I get that _now,_ " Tiff groans, rubbing at her forehead. 

"We'll let him know," Emi says, serious. 

"Yeah," Tiff agrees. "At least someone gets out of this gracefully." 

Hiyori chuckles, and leans forward. "Hey, it's not too late. You can still go have a real date, if you want one." 

Tiff looks taken aback, and then torn. "I..." 

Hiyori turns to the rest of the group, still looking over their menus, and does a quick headcount. "It's up to you," he says. "I'm serious. You can go." 

Emi shakes her head. "There's an even number of boys and girls right now, though," she says, looking worried. "We'd cause trouble for everyone." 

Hiyori shakes his head. "Not necessarily. Here—I'll help. If you'd rather go?" 

Emi looks torn, but Hiyori thinks she might be trembling a little bit, too. He feels for her—this situation has made her so tense, and he doesn't think she can bring herself to admit she wants to leave. 

Tiff looks between her and Hiyori, then back over the group, at the way they're chatting. A girl points at something on the menu and giggles, and two of the boys laugh too, a beat too late and just a little too loud. She purses her lips and looks at Hiyori. "I don't really want to stay," she admits in a low voice. "If we can avoid drawing too much attention..." 

"Leave it to me," Hiyori says. He stands up, fishing his coin purse out of his pocket as he does. "I know the guy who set this up. One second." 

He moves down the table till he gets to Kisumi, and manages to get his attention after a few seconds. He has to say his name twice before Kisumi hears him, and then he jumps a bit. 

"Hiyori! What's up?" he asks. 

Hiyori hadn't meant to sneak up on him, but he tries to smooth the moment over. "I was just talking to Tiff and Emi," he says, "and Emi's not actually feeling very well. She's pushing herself, and Tiff wants to take her home." 

Kisumi is immediately all concern. "Is she okay? Is there anything we can do to help?" 

"No, she'll be fine," Hiyori says. "I was just thinking...I'm going to make sure they get back okay, all right? That should help keep the numbers close to even, too." 

Kisumi frowned. "Are you sure? We can make something work, you don't have to—”

"I'll feel better about it this way," Hiyori says, firmly. "Thanks for thinking of me, though, Kisumi. I appreciate it." 

Kisumi smiles faintly, but he still seems troubled. "Okay," he says. "I'll explain to the others. Travel safe." 

"I will," Hiyori says, smiling. 

He goes back to the others. "Okay, all taken care of. Ready to go?" 

Emi is already standing with her coat under one arm, looking more nervous than ever. It isn't really a stretch to say she's feeling ill, with the way she looks. "Thank you for this," she says quietly. 

"No problem at all," Hiyori says firmly, steps back a little as Tiff gets up as well. "I'll see you downstairs, at least." 

They're quiet as they return to the elevator and go down to the ground floor. Hiyori looks around, and then leads them to an edge of a planter box. Emi sits on the edge and huddles in on herself, looking cold. Tiff takes a seat on her other side and leans in, looking like she'd get even closer if she dared but isn't sure such a gesture would be welcome. Hiyori's heart aches for them. 

"Any idea where you'd like to go?" he asks. "Restaurants, arcades, some other kind of attraction? Somewhere close seems like it would be best." 

"Can we?" Emi asks, still quiet. "I don't know...if I can." 

"You can do anything you want," Tiff says, fierce. " _We'll_ do whatever you want. I'm sorry, I never meant to put you in this sort of situation." 

"If it helps," Hiyori says, "I really think that you can. Nobody's going to look at you twice." He pauses, frowns. "I mean, they won't know what you're doing, and in its way, that's not fair to you, but..." He pauses, shakes his head slightly. He's frustrated with himself. He still thinks that it's true that they should be fine—that two girls going out to a date spot won't be remarked upon the way it would if it were two men, that Tiff's oddness is plenty to distract from anything else—but who is he to guarantee that? 

"I think you'll be fine," he says firmly, "but if it'll make you comfortable, we can find somewhere quiet." 

There's a pause, and Hiyori tries to hide that he's chewing on his own tongue as he dares himself to look them over. When he finally does, Tiff has an arm around Emi, and Emi's leaning into her faintly, eyes closed. She's smiling, and as he watches, it slowly becomes a happier smile. 

"My dad always used to say," Tiff says quietly, "No one's looking at you as much as you think they are. He's never been to Japan, but..." She laughs once, wry, and squeezes Emi's upper arm. "I still think it's true. And more to the point, if anybody tries to make trouble, I will hand them their _entire_ ass." 

Emi huffs a laugh, eyes still closed. "That's true," she says. 

Something inside Hiyori knots up, a small little bit of pain, somewhere between his heart and his stomach. It's to do with what he's seeing, but it's not really about Tiff and Emi at all, and so he breathes through it, looking back down at his phone and flipping through restaurant reviews. 

"Oh hey, here's something..." he begins, a few minutes later, and when he lifts his head, Emi lifts her own from looking at Tiff's phone and looks straight at him. 

"You didn't have to do all of this," she says, quiet, and Hiyori feels something in him go quiet and still. 

"I wanted to," he says, because it's true. "Did you...find somewhere you like?" 

"Yeah," Tiff says, looking up with a brief grin. "Not hard, in Tokyo." 

"Good." Hiyori shifts, the too-thin line of fake brick digging in where he's sitting. "Do you need any help getting there, or...?" 

"No," Emi says, "I think we'll be fine." She smiles at him; she seems a lot calmer already, and there's still something in her gaze that keeps catching Hiyori off-guard. "What about you, Hiyori-kun?" 

"I'm going to have a date with a book, I think," he says, entirely truthfully. "It's more my style than a _goukon_ , anyway." 

Emi perks up. "Oh, do you like reading?" 

Tiff leans around her, suddenly eager. "That's great, because we're trying to start this international book club..." 

The next thing Hiyori knows, Tiff and Emi have friended him on LINE, and he's promised to go to a trial meeting of an unofficial club at a school he doesn't even attend. He blinks down at his phone after they go, looking at their icons. They have matching _purikura_ photos. 

Something in him is still slowly untwisting, twinging as it does so, but he also feels...more whole, maybe, than he has in a while. He considers finding a coffee shop, but decides that he'd really rather just read on the bus home. 

The time he's been out today already feels like time well spent. 

* * *

Kisumi messages him that evening, which Hiyori had been halfway expecting. 

_Did those girls today get home okay?_ he sends. 

Hiyori winces a bit. Normally, he'd try to negotiate this through chat, but it seems like it might be less complicated to explain in person. _Right, about that. Can I call you?_ he messages back. 

Kisumi responds by calling him. 

"So yeah, they were fine," Hiyori starts off as soon as he starts with his greeting. "They just misunderstood the kind of event it was and got uncomfortable, that's all." 

"Huh?" Kisumi asks. 

"That study-abroad student, Sam," Hiyori says. "He's the one who told them about the event, right? He told them it was a 'group date.'" 

"Wasn't it?" Kisumi asks, all innocent confusion, and Hiyori feels himself wince. So _that_ had been where the misunderstanding had come from. 

"Have you heard the term 'double date' before?" he asks. 

"Maybe? But that's..." Kisumi suddenly pauses, and his voice goes a little tight over the line. "Ah. Um. So then, they were hoping to date..." 

"Each other," Hiyori says dryly. "As someone who lived overseas for a little while, just for the record: it never hurts to be clear." 

"Oh geez," Kisumi says, sounding uncomfortable. "That's not...I didn't...oops." 

Hiyori laughs at him, but not unkindly. "It's okay," he says, taking pity on him. "Tiff said she'd pass the word along to Sam that you asked him out by accident." 

"Oh my god," Kisumi squeaks. "I cannot believe I messed that up. Oh no." 

"It's okay," Hiyori says. "It was a misunderstanding. On all sides." 

There's a pause, and Kisumi sounds uncomfortable. "So then, does Sam think that I...” 

"If he minded," Hiyori says, "I doubt he would've responded by sending his friends instead." 

"That's not the _point_ ," Kisumi wails, albeit quietly. 

"What," Hiyori asks, a little more gently, "are you worried that he'll tell people?" 

That makes Kisumi pause. "I mean, the part of me that's _dying of embarrassment_ right now hopes he doesn't," he admits, raising his head. "If I were really asking someone out on a date, I'd take it much more seriously!" 

Hiyori doesn't know what to say to that, but he feels his nerves settle a little. It seems the overall situation is bothering Kisumi more than some of the specific assumptions that had been involved. 

"But the rest of it doesn't bother me," he says. "Well. I mean. I hope I didn't make Sam uncomfortable."

Hiyori shrugs. "I don't know about that one. But again, I think if he'd been upset, he would have responded differently." 

"That's true." A pause, and then he hears a slight smile in Kisumi's voice. "So wait, when the three of you left, before..." 

Hiyori thinks carefully before answering. "I left them to their own devices after," he says. "Whatever they did or didn't do after that is none of my business." 

"I won't spread anything around," Kisumi promises immediately. "Like you said. Their business." 

Hiyori smiles and nods, although Kisumi can't see him. "But yes, for the record—if you do start dating someone in the future, and want to invite them again...this is just a guess, don't quote me on it, but I don't think they'd say no." 

Kisumi sighs in relief. "That's good!" 

"And also," Hiyori says, "I've been invited to a book club. So thanks for that, too." 

"What? No way, that's awesome!" Kisumi chuckles. "You don't get to thank me for that one, though. You did it on your own." 

Hiyori thinks of Kisumi's stubborn kindness, helping him over and over, and of Emi's straight-on, fearless gaze, the rakish tilt of Tiff's mouth. "No," he says, "I've definitely had help. I'll let you know how the book club goes." 

* * *

Emi sends him an invitation to the club meeting after a few days. She tells Hiyori there's no assigned reading for this meeting, so there isn't that to use as an excuse, and he'd already decided he would agree to go. 

This doesn't stop him from stressing about it in his free moments. He leaves it by the poolside with everything else for practice—as best he can, anyway—but it comes back to him as he drags his shirt over his head and puts his phone in his jacket. (He checks, as he does now, that Kinjo hasn't sent him any messages. He's safe.) The meeting isn't for a week and a half, but once his mind has something to worry about, it can be difficult to stop it from fixating. 

Hiyori is certainly trying, though...which is why when Terashima calls out to him, he's entirely unprepared. 

"Oh right, by the way—I heard you were in town last week with a girl on each arm," Terashima says, taking a few long steps to pull up beside him, and grinning. "I didn't know you were a ladies' man, Toono." 

Hiyori stiffens—he can't help it, not having expected the attention—and turns his head in Terashima's direction. "Who'd you hear that from?" he asks, pleasant by reflex. 

"Friend of a friend," he says. "Not that anybody could be sure it was you, but... _did_ you go out last weekend?" 

"Yeah," Hiyori says, because there's no point in lying, and he already sees a way he can spin this. "One of the girls spoke English, so I was helping translate. That's all." 

"Aw, dang. A foreign girl, even?" Terashima gets even closer, nudging him a bit with his elbow. "Was she cuuute?" 

Hiyori shrugs. "I guess." 

"Boo, that's not very gentlemanly of you, dude!" He gets nudged again. "Every girl is cute with the right mindset!" 

"She was something, all right," Hiyori capitulates. _Not my type,_ he doesn't add, because it feels dishonest, and _I'm not her type_ hints at information it's not his place to share. 

Terashima pumps his fist and cheers. "Didja get her number?"

"I don't know why you're asking," he teases reflexively. "I wouldn't give it to you even if I did." 

Terashima plants a dramatic hand on his chest. "I'm wounded! Maybe I just wanted to cheer you on!" 

Hiyori chuckles in spite of himself, matching the flow of the conversation. "You've just proved my assumption correct, you know." 

"I did not!" 

The banter continues in this way, and Hiyori doesn't love the implications behind it, but at least it seems to be going smoothly. It's a relief—until he turns a bit and spots Ikuya out of the corner of his eye. 

Ikuya is _staring_ at him. 

Hiyori blinks at him for a long moment, and it seems to take Ikuya a moment to realize that he's been caught looking, and his gaze shifts away, reluctant. He doesn't say anything, and Hiyori can't quite bring himself to ask, so he hitches his bag up over his shoulder and looks away, gives Terashima and Sagae a dry smile. Sagae sends him a look of commiseration that might have made him laugh under other circumstances. 

"Anyway," he says, "if there's nothing else, I've got some homework to catch up on. I'll see you later." 

Terashima gives him a parting shot about helping him find a date; Hiyori feels a little twist of irritation in his gut, but pleasantly ignores it, not even pausing as he goes. 

Ikuya doesn't say anything, and he also doesn't follow him. 

* * *

"Don't tease him like that," Ikuya says, after Hiyori has left. 

Most of the rest of the team has already left, with a few remaining smaller groups that are weighing the relative benefits of going out and going home to study. Finals are close enough that Ikuya's been having those conversations more and more frequently, too, but he's pretty sure he'll be heading home soon. Just...not yet. 

(It isn't because he felt uncomfortable going with Hiyori back to the dorms. It's _not._ )

"Aw, he knew I was just joking, right?" Terashima says. "I've got a girlfriend and everything. This is a big step for—ow!" 

Sagae has smacked him upside the head. He's frowning. "Not everybody is used to your teasing, dude," he says, and the words are light but his frown is real. "Was he actually bothered?" he asks Ikuya. "He seemed okay, but with Toono it's hard to tell." 

"He seemed...?" Ikuya glares at them. "If he says it wasn't anything, then it wasn't." 

"Whoa, okay," Sagae says, stepping away from Terashima. "I think what we have here is a misunderstanding." A nudge in Terashima's ribs, and a hint of humor. "Hey, Kotaro. I think this is your cue to apologize." 

"Why? Toono isn't even here." 

"I'm not sure Toono's the only one you freaked out." 

"Huh?" Terashima turns his head towards Ikuya, for some reason, and looks him head to toe. His eyes widen. "Oh, uh, sorry dude. We didn't mean to mess with him, or whatever. Not really." 

Sagae sighs, long-suffering. "Oh, _now_ it's a 'we'..." 

Ikuya keeps watching them. He's not sure he's understood anything that's happened for the past few minutes, or really anything since the date came up. He hadn't known Hiyori was into things like that, not at all. 

"But actually," Terashima continues. "You know we didn't mean anything by it, right? We're happy for him." 

"He _said_ he's not dating anybody," Ikuya says, and wonders if he sounds like a broken record. 

Terashima frowns slightly. "Happy that he's getting out more, then," he says, sounding sulky. 

"Even if it'd be nice if he hung out with us a bit more, too," Sagae adds, with a faint smile. 

"That's..." Ikuya thinks about it, presses his lips together; he turns around, grabbing one of his arms at the elbow. It's getting chilly, stray drops from his shower running cold down the back of his neck and making him shiver. "I'll pass that on. It'd be good to hang out more as a team, anyway."

After all, that's what friends do, right? It's what he always did with his friends, anyway. Before. 

"Hey," Terashima says, all innocent curiosity, "wait, are you actually—" 

"I'm heading back," Ikuya says, and steps away, already pulling out his earbuds. He's not sure what Terashima's about to ask, but he gets the distinct sense that he doesn't want to. "See you later." 

There's silence behind him, and he half-listens at the others behind him, wondering if he's gone too far; but then he hears a good-natured chuckle, probably Sagae reinforcing to Terashima that he should lay off the teasing. Ikuya shakes his head and puts on his earbuds, sighing. At least their overall dynamic is pretty good. Maybe they'll get better at more than just their exchanges over time. 

He'll see them next practice. Hiyori's got enough of a head start on him that they probably won't meet on the way to the dorms. 

He'll ask him the next time he sees him how that night out actually went. Maybe. 

If Hiyori seems like he wants to share. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes for this chapter:
> 
> I've never actually seen someone mistake a _goukon_ for a group date, but it struck me as the sort of thing that could happen. _Goukons_ seem to be pretty popular social events for college students in Japan, at least pop-culture-wise, but they're different from anything I've heard about in the US.
> 
>  _Purikura_ is a kind of photo booth that exist in most arcades. They usually have settings to add makeup, enlarge eyes, and so on, and you can decorate the photos before they're printed out. Often, men aren't allowed into them unattended, but it's perfectly fine as a date activity. 
> 
> Also, this isn't directly related to this fic, but if you're interested in some of the best LGBT own-voices manga representation I'm aware of, check out Kamatani Yuhki's 4-volume series Shimonami Tasogare, which has official editions coming out in English. Writing some of the stuff in this chapter reminded me how much I love it, it's sad but also hopeful and really good, y'all.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Well. I did promise some Ikuya, didn't I? His POV won't come up every chapter, but it'll happen every so often from now on. I hope his perspective turned out okay!
> 
> Thanks as always for reading!


	8. Invitations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unexpected invitations, both welcome and unwelcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was honestly not expecting a full Ikuya POV chapter this early, but it ended up happening. Hope it works!

Ikuya has always hated the feeling of a limb that's fallen asleep. They're numb but somehow irritating and impossible to ignore, and inspire a feeling of dread along with the impossible, frustrating sense that he _has_ to move. It's a sensation of weakness and distrust of his own limbs, but he'll wince and stomp it out anyway just to make it end faster.

Ever since his race with Haru—in truth, ever since Haru had stepped onto the starting block beside him—he's felt a little like that. All of him, but his heart most of all.

He was just happy at first, able to ride out the adrenaline and the pure joy of having his friends back. He has Makoto's gentle eyes on him again, full of joy instead of sorrow. He has Asahi's stupid jokes and Kisumi's banter. He's learning about about their new friends until they almost feel like they could have been his own. 

And he has _Haru_ back at his side, after all these years. 

Some of the oddest times are when he's with Haru and the others. The ones where he laughs and almos chokes on his own surprise, that he can. It's a little frightening, feeling this carefree when he's used to holding distance from everyone around him as a matter of course. It's odd that they act around him as though the barriers he'd put up for everyone else had never existed in the first place.

Things aren't just like before, and even as happy as he is he doesn't want to delude himself into thinking everything is perfect. Coming back to himself—the self he had in middle school before losing his team, before finding the ways that water could become a foe instead of a friend, before becoming his own worst enemy—it's going to hurt, sometimes. It won't be easy.

It's less weird in his daily life, with Hiyori and the rest of the team. Definitely different from before, though, because he's friends with more of his team members now. There are moments where they all seem a bit out-of-step, and he's heard a few conversations—good-spirited, always hushed immediately when the conspirators notice his presence—about how he's practically a different person, now that he's come out of his shell. It does sometimes feel like he's suddenly been replaced, like even he can't predict anymore how he'll react to the world around him. 

But with Hiyori, things are…comfortable. Oddly so. Not stifling, which he might have expected with how little their dynamic has changed. Just…it's nice to have a place to rest, somewhere where he knows he's already been at his worst and been accepted without judgment.

It's quiet. That's it. The rest of his life has started getting more vibrant, more chaotic, and sometimes crashes through him like a tidal wave, like the pain-prickling of limbs coming to life after a long time. But with Hiyori, things are still quiet.

Ikuya brings parts of the maelstrom with him, sometimes, the color and the chaos. When he talks with Hiyori about their roles on the team, when Hiyori is at first confused by his dynamic with Asahi and the others, but adjusts without complaint. 

It's…well, really, it's nice to be able to express emotions to Hiyori that aren't fear, or frustration, or sadness. There have been others before, too, but they were more muted before than they are now.

And Hiyori bears all of it, all the sea changes, with grace. With the same smile, the same searching glances, the same careful intuition as always. More than ever, he's a constant in Ikuya's life—but a nice thing to have, now, rather than the only raft in an endless storm of Ikuya's own making.

He wonders if Hiyori could feel the difference. He must be less of a burden, now, he supposes, but it's hard to tell. Hiyori's smile hadn't really changed, and Ikuya didn't know what other signs to look for.

He'd sometimes thought, privately, that Hiyori's smile is a little like Makoto's. Now that he has the chance to see them together, though, Ikuya can't help but notice the differences. For one thing, there was no edge in Makoto's smile at all, whereas with Hiyori, there was always the presence of a certain sort of risk. Rarely, his smile comes laced with teeth, a bite so polite and yet so confident that it seemed it could drain the blood in seconds. 

For another—Makoto will fake a smile sometimes, or put it on for someone else, but he's never put one up as an impassable wall. With Hiyori, though, he's found himself starting to wonder. 

* * *

Of course, even for Ikuya as he is now, it isn't always good days.

Ikuya knows about achievement works, about peaks and troughs and progress. Hitting new levels of performance is great, but there's a hidden sting in it: peak achievement is often at least a little random. Achieve something above your personal average, and the odds are very good you won't surpass yourself immediately a second time.

In any set of statistics, in other words, there is inevitably a certain amount of noise.

Ikuya has taught himself an intuitive grasp of this, by now—anyone who's continually trying to improve themselves needs it—but it's fragile. And so, over the years, he finds that some of the most fragile moments are the ones immediately following the "good" days.

Ikuya is so, so much better now, in mindset and not just in swimming. That isn't enough to fix that fragility, and it isn't enough to fix his single-minded focus.

One thing has changed, though: when the stakes are lower, and he hits a snag, or a gap in his rhythm, he struggles less often, and he usually doesn't sink too far—literally or metaphorically. He has the presence of mind to finish his set and wait in the water and breathe. In the worst moments, he relaxes, finds a lane line to hold himself up, or simply goes belly-up and breathes in the middle of the lane.

He has the presence of mind to make a thumbs-up at anyone who questions him, in those times. He takes his time getting to the end of the lane, isn't on the verge of collapse as often when he pulls himself out.

Well, it helps, too, that some months have passed, and they're well into the off-season. There's not an event coming up in the near future, and he's in a better frame of mind, and hopes at least that he's getting more resilient all the time. He's not entirely sure it'll last through the roughest patches, but progress is progress.

He's still…careful, when he feels his mood and confidence waning at the tail end of a Friday practice. No good times today, when he'd been doing so _well_ earlier this week, and he's so busy telling himself that everything's still fine that he gets a little frustrated, a little impatient as he climbs out of the pool. He doesn't have as strong a handhold as he thinks he does, and his wet fingers slip off, snapping into a fist in midair as he pitches backwards, twisting instinctively to see what he's going to hit even as the water parts around him and drags him in—

And spits him out again a second later, totally fine, if spluttering. Out of nowhere, Hiyori's hand almost bumps his nose a second later.

"Ikuya, hey. That was a surprise! You all right?"

He's almost distracted from the rising tide of humiliation by the smile on Hiyori's face. 

"I'm fine," he says, and his eyes dart away in embarrassment and vexation, because half the pool's eyes are on them and he feels small and stupid. He takes Hiyori's and lets him help him out a moment later, trying to force the red from his cheeks. 

He lets Hiyori put a hand on his shoulder while he catches his breath, and mercifully, Hiyori doesn't say anything..

He shadows Ikuya on the way to the changing room, quietly gets in a few moments after him in the shower and finishes a few moments after as well. It takes Ikuya a while to realize that not only is Hiyori quiet, he keeps avoiding looking him in the eye.

"I'm really fine," Ikuya says eventually, apropos of nothing, as he starts tugging on his shoes at the entrance.

Hiyori freezes for a long moment, gaze pointed at the floor. "I know," he says, softly. "I'm glad."

He finishes tugging on his shoes to before he notices Ikuya staring at him.

"You get like this," Ikuya says, gesturing vaguely at him because he doesn't know how to explain what he's saying. "When I'm upset, you…you behave differently." 

Hiyori swallows, gaze almost darting away. Then he smiles again, smaller but gentle.

"I'm sorry," Hiyori says, softly. "It doesn't mean I don't believe in you. I just…I guess I worry."

"I…" Ikuya sighs, stepping past him and out of the building. "You don't have to."

"I want—” Hiyori says, immediately, and then cuts himself off. Ikuya hears the familiar sound of Hiyori's steps right behind him, matching his stride. "I mean. I'm sorry. I just…I really don't want to see anything bad happen, you know?"

Ikuya's stomach twists at the suppressed fear, the forced shallow pleasantness in Hiyori's voice. He can be hard to read sometimes, but for now, at least, his front is obvious. 

"We should go somewhere," Ikuya says, abruptly, turning and making Hiyori jerk to a halt on the sidewalk beside him. "That café you mentioned. You remember? The one with the jelly drinks, or whatever."

Hiyori blinks at him, frowns. "Now?"

"Yeah," Ikuya says, and finds that a smile is suddenly possible to manage. It's almost sweet on his lips, and ever so slightly smug. It occurs to Ikuya that surprising Hiyori is actually a little fun. 

And the fact that Hiyori's returning smile a moment later suddenly looks a lot more genuine is just an added bonus. 

* * *

The moment doesn't last as long as he would have thought, though, because Hiyori, sitting across from him, is quiet. 

This shouldn't be new. He's quiet often, though he'll often talk Ikuya's ear off about this and that as well. They didn't feel so different, before, one or the other. He would switch between those two modes easily enough, retreating into silence when Ikuya became too unresponsive to hold a conversation with, slipping back into small talk when he came a bit more out of his shell. 

But it feels new. Hiyori looks pale behind his glasses. His eyes dart everywhere, and Ikuya can watch him long enough to know because he starts avoiding Ikuya's gaze again. 

He doesn't seem to want to talk about anything at all, and that is...new. Ikuya doesn't know what to do about it. 

Perhaps distraction would be best, but it's remarkably difficult to convince himself to broach the subject. 

"...Hiyori," he says, eventually. 

Hiyori looks over at him instantly. "Yes?" 

"How _was_ the thing you went to the other day?" He puts his head to one side as he asks, giving Hiyori a quizzical look. "What was with that, anyway?" 

Hiyori seems to take a while to process the question, and then huffs and looks away, smiling. "Right, that. It was a _goukon_. Kisumi called in a favor." 

Ikuya feels his eyes widen. "So it _was_ a date?" he asks, a little incredulous.

"Only in the loosest sense of the word," Hiyori says. "He's not convincing me to do another of those in a hurry." 

"Why'd you agree, then?" 

Hiyori's hands disappear under the table. "Kisumi's nice," he mumbles, with an awkward little smile. 

Ikuya feels a frown spread on his face, and isn't entirely sure why. Kisumi _is_ nice, and it's good to hear that they're getting along. "That doesn't mean you have to go to something just because he invites you," he says. 

"I know," Hiyori says, a little too lightly. 

"Well...good." Ikuya leans back too, crossing his arms, and the next question comes out before he can realize what he's asking, much less stop himself. "Is dating...something you want to do?" 

Hiyori shakes his head, like it wasn't a weird question. "No," he says. "I'm too busy to focus on something like that." 

It feels like clouds over his head have cleared. "That makes sense," he says. "Just keeping up with classes on top of club can get tough sometimes, even in the off-season." 

"You've seemed like you're doing okay, though," Hiyori says. 

"Yes, well." Ikuya shrugs. "It's...easier than I remember." It probably won't stay that way, but that's all the more reason to double down and get on top of things while it lasts. 

Hiyori gives him a little lopsided smile, not looking away from him now. "I'm glad." 

An odd rush of tingles goes down Ikuya's spine at that expression, but he tries to brush it off. Hiyori looks at him all the time; there's no need to overthink it. "Speaking of which," he adds, "I'm still thinking about routines we could run by Hoshikawa for our relay team..." 

Talking about swimming with Hiyori is always easy. Even Asahi will sometimes get sick of these conversations when they get too technical, and while Haru will listen, he's not exactly the best about input—his knowledge, while definitely deep, doesn't come out in words very often. Makoto's more interested in these sorts of conversations than Ikuya remembers, but Hiyori's still the best. 

As usual, he's got interesting things to say about Ikuya's ideas, and points out connections that Ikuya has missed. They compare notes on Sagae's and Terashima's techniques, and when they sit down Ikuya pulls out his computer to show Hiyori some models he's come up with lately. 

When the waiter comes, he orders entirely on autopilot, though he can see Hiyori starting to look amused, and when they've finished with his assessments of their team performance, he moves on to his individual performance sheets. 

He flips past his own graphs, unthinking, and then moves on to Hiyori's, muscle memory pulling up a chart. It's a good way to see an overview, and it isn't until he hears Hiyori inhale quietly that he puts together what he's seeing. 

Hiyori's times lately have been...less than stellar. Ikuya's been aware of that on a numbers level, but it's one thing to think about what that means about his choices of stroke and regimen, and another to look over and see Hiyori looking...

He doesn't know what to call the look on Hiyori's face, but he doesn't like it. 

"...Well," he says after a second, "okay, these aren't your best times, but it's not like you're in a slump, either." 

"True," Hiyori admits. "I haven't shown any improvement in a while, though." 

"Your freestyle's doing okay," Ikuya points out. "You haven't been focusing as much on backstroke, so it makes sense not to have made a lot of progress there." 

He looks at the numbers, trying to remember patterns, possible outliers to the data. Were there days when Hiyori had been off? He allowed for Ikuya's data-collecting habits to be extended to him, mainly because they always worked together to record Ikuya's time anyway, but he didn't seem to pay much attention to his own times in the moment. Usually he'd only glance briefly at Ikuya's stopwatch before moving on, if that. 

Ikuya runs a linear regression on his data and frowns. Hiyori's times are technically getting _worse_ across both of his main strokes, albeit by barely enough to be significant in his freestyle. 

"Maybe you need more focus?" he says, thinking aloud. "You were saying you hadn't really settled on a stroke. Unless you were planning on doing individual medley?" 

"Hm? No," Hiyori says, shaking his head. "That's more your thing than it is mine." 

Ikuya nods. "Well, that's fine as long as you don't change your mind," he says. He looks up. "So, what are you thinking of focusing on?"

"...I suppose it should be freestyle," Hiyori says. "That's what the other two seem to want to focus on, our free relay." 

Ikuya looks between Hiyori and the data, feeling his expression settle into a frown. "That's not a very proactive mindset," he says. 

"That's true," Hiyori says, but he seems unconcerned. He props his chin on one fist and smiles slightly. "I'll work on it." 

Ikuya examines him for a long moment. It's probably the autumn coming on, but Hiyori definitely looks more washed-out than he remembers. Ikuya can make out shadows under his eyes, and his mouth is pulled tight in a way that he doesn't like. The words are familiar, too— _I'm sorry_ and _I'll do better_ and _I'll get there_ , all said in the same tone of patience. 

What is the point of patience, Ikuya wonders, if Hiyori's talking about himself? If it were anyone else, he'd say Hiyori was lazy, but he's never caught Hiyori slacking off, so it can't be that. 

"Do _you_ have any specific goals?" he asks, finally, mostly to see how Hiyori answers. 

Hiyori's smile drops a little bit, and his gaze falls to the table. He's saved from answering right away as their food arrives, but he looks down at it instead of reaching for it right away. 

"I do want to get better at freestyle," he says, a few minutes later, setting aside his sandwich and looking at Ikuya seriously. "I might include longer-distance practice. I could stand to build up my endurance...what do you think?" 

Ikuya turns it over, chewing thoughtfully. "That could be good," he says. "Sprints are usually good for endurance too, though, so you'll want a certain amount of both." 

"That's true," Hiyori says. 

"We can put a regimen together," Ikuya says. "Are you free this..." He stops to think. "Sunday?" 

"I'm not, unfortunately," Hiyori says, so casually that Ikuya almost doesn't realize how strange it is for him to say. "I'm busy right after practice. What about Saturday?" 

"I can't do Saturday," Ikuya says regretfully. "Well, we can talk about it at practice. I'll work some stuff out in the meantime." 

"You don't have to, but I'd appreciate it." Hiyori smiles at him. 

Ikuya swallows, tries not to wind himself up too far before he asks. "What are you doing on Sunday?" 

"Just another social gathering," Hiyori says. 

"Oh," Ikuya says. 

"What about you?" Hiyori asks, before he can press the question. "Heading over to Hidaka?" 

"Yeah," he admits. 

Hiyori nods to himself, smiling. "I hope you have a good time." 

Ikuya bites back a sigh. "You too," he says quietly. 

* * *

And that, Ikuya likes to think, would have been the end of that. In fairness, he does less stupid about falling after spending some time with Hiyori, but something still feels off somehow.

They talk about...nothing much, really. Well, not nothing, because some of it is the latest sports news and the newest things he's found out about technique and equipment, but...it feels like something's missing, and it's frustrating, because he can't even pin down what makes him feel that way. 

He wants to ask about the date Hiyori went on, but can't quite bring himself to do it. 

His doubts come to the fore when Hiyori excuses himself to the bathroom. He'd set his phone down on the table a few minutes before, distracted from an article he was reading by something Ikuya was saying. As Ikuya sits in silence, he finds his attention drawn to it. 

It vibrates, once, twice, three times, and lights up. It's not spying, Ikuya figures, if he isn't touching it, and cranes his head a little to see the messages upside down. 

He can't read them from this angle anyway, because it's in English and moving quickly. He stares at the stream of messages moving down Hiyori's phone for a long moment. Wonders how Hiyori manages to ignore his phone if it blows up this much, and who he's talking with. 

His thoughts are cut short when he sees a Japanese message he _can_ read, just fine, from a contact that's listed only as "k": _Hey, you like reading and shit, right?_

The message disappears back into the flood a moment later, but Ikuya can't help but wonder. Had that been Kisumi? It didn't...really sound like the way he texted. Who else was talking to him?

Maybe one of the girls from the date? 

His thoughts were interrupted by Hiyori returning. "Hey," he says. "Your phone's blowing up." 

"Oh right, the group chat." Hiyori slides into the seat and ducks his head over his phone. "I only got added to it a little while ago—haven't muted it yet, it's such a—” 

Hiyori freezes. His words, already quiet and not really directed at Ikuya, dry up entirely. 

Ikuya waits for a heartbeat, two, watching the way Hiyori's teeth press into his lower lip till it turns white. 

Ikuya wants to ask what's wrong. He opens his mouth. 

"What sort of chat is it?" he asks, instead. 

"I got invited to...a book club," Hiyori says, absently. "International—mostly English and Japanese right now, though. They seemed excited that I could read in English." 

"Oh," Ikuya says. "That sounds like a good fit for you." 

"...It might be, yeah," Hiyori says, with apparent effort. He's still looking at his phone. "I hope it is."

_Are you okay?_ is pushing its way up and out of Ikuya's throat. He opens his mouth to ask—

"But the chat moves way to fast for me," Hiyori says with a wan smile, and pockets his phone, attention back on Ikuya. "I hope they're not quite this lively in person." 

"You haven't met these people before?" he asks. 

Hiyori's brow creases, but he doesn't protest Ikuya's stubbornness. "I've met a couple," he says. "Not all at once, though. They seem nice enough." 

"That's...good." And he doesn't know what else to say about it, doesn't know what to think of the way Hiyori's fist is clenched, almost absently, on the table. "Is Kisumi going?" 

"I don't know," Hiyori says, and then hesitates. "Probably not."

"Really? He seems like he goes to everything." The message niggles at the back of his mind. The tone seems wrong for Kisumi, but the initial fits... "If you asked, he'd probably go with you."

Hiyori laughs, seeming surprised. "Why? Besides, if there's going to be as much English as I think there will be...I don't know if he'd be comfortable." He shakes his head. "But anyway. What will you be doing with Nanase and everyone? Just studying?"

It's a blatant distraction, but it's also a topic of interest; Ikuya wavers, but ends up going with it. "Yep, with Haru and Asahi. They've got a test to study for." 

"Huh," Hiyori says, but he doesn't even sound like he's trying to be interested. A second later, he looks up again. "Well, I wish we could hang out this weekend, but it doesn't look like the timing will line up. I'll see you at practice, at least." 

He's clearly distracted. Ikuya sighs, blowing a stray lock of hair out of his face. "Yeah," he says. "We'll talk then. I guess we should get going. What are you doing for dinner?"

Hiyori's smile is apologetic. "Thought I'd stop by the convenience store, or the supermarket maybe. I've got some studying to do." 

It's as close to dismissal as Hiyori gets. Ikuya keeps his face neutral as he stands. "Got it. Good luck." 

If he's hoping for an invitation, he doesn't get one. He'd have happily traded one for an explanation, but he doesn't get that either. 

On the other side of the happiness is uncertainty. He's known that from the start, but hadn't realized it would be in waves, just like the darkness before was—normalcy like a boat on the water, with waves that rise out of nowhere to try to pull it under. 

He just hopes that at some point, the moments when he sees through Hiyori's mask will leave him less confused instead of more. 


	9. Riptide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An off day. 
> 
> (Please take a look at the warnings if you need them!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter include bad mental headspace/anxiety response and mention of character death. There's a summary at the end of the chapter if you need to check it!
> 
> Also, sorry for the delay this week! There were some technical and schedule difficulties with this chapter, and also it was trickier to patch together than I was expecting. Here goes!

That night, Hiyori stares at his wall and watches the stray thoughts go through his own head, powerless to stop or even remember them. 

He forgot to get food. 

Kinjo messaged him about books a couple days before the book club. It could be a coincidence, but it probably isn't. 

Ikuya's probably disappointed in him. 

Maybe he shouldn't go to the book club. He wants to, though, and that's rare. So he should. 

He's behind on studying. 

He needs to do something. Anything. 

The room is quiet. 

Ikuya asked if he wanted to spend more time with him, and he said no. So it's his fault the room's quiet. 

This is an old, familiar flavor of tranquil alarm. It reminds him of being in primary school and staring at an empty glass of milk on the table in a dark room, next to the carton that needs to go back into the fridge on a lonely Sunday. 

He could get up, put the milk away, do some cleaning or read or listen to music or even go outside to the park, but he didn't. He sat still where his parents left him for what felt like hours and watched the milk slowly dry on the inside of the glass, thinking about how the milk might be going bad and how when his mom gets back he'd have to pretend he forgot to put the carton away, or else try to explain the inexplicable. 

It turned out fine, though. He'd put it away, and no one had ever been the wiser. He's always fine, so there's no point worrying about this feeling now, either. 

These moments aren't real. He always breaks these deadlocks eventually, but knowing that doesn't make the feeling any more pleasant. He still feels helpless, like on some level he's not completely sure that he can move his own limbs. 

He doesn't know what's different between him and Ikuya, but he knows something must be, because Ikuya almost drowns for real and Ikuya cries and hurts and _feels_ and...somehow Hiyori suspects he will never get closer to any of that than this, curled up on the floor in front of his couch instead of on it, staring at the curtained window. 

He's going to be alone until Sunday, in the mid-morning. Some part of him must still be a small child, because that seems like an insurmountable amount of time, a blank, unscalable wall. 

He manages to make it across the room to his bed. He flops down to stare at the ceiling. 

_First things first,_ he says to himself, as firmly as he can, and then wonders what should come first. 

Probably Kinjo, but he doesn't want to deal with Kinjo. 

If he doesn't deal with Kinjo, would that make things worse? Which things? 

Kinjo going after Ikuya instead of him is unacceptable, and staving him off is the only way to do that. But what if he knows about the book club? What then? 

Perhaps, he thinks, he is blowing this out of proportion. He's seen the messages in the group chat Tiff added him to—even though, like Emi, he's said almost nothing himself. This isn't labeled a meeting for sexual and gender minorities, or queer people, or anything like that. It just so happens that Tiff and Emi and Sam all...are, and they aren't scared of showing it. Hanging out with them doesn't mean anything, or rather, it can mean anything he wants it to. It can mean that he's an ally. 

He _wants_ to be an ally—homophobia and the rest of it are stupid, and he'd love to take assholes who endorse it down a peg or five—but at the same time, the thought of eyes on him, if he's next to them...it scares him in a way nothing's scared him for a long, long time. 

Should he let that stop him? 

He's a little surprised he's still even thinking of going. But he...actually, really, truly wants to go. He is curious. He's not sure if he _likes_ these people or the idea of the group as a whole, but at the very least, they're interesting. They don't bore him at all. 

It is rare, to find something interesting that isn't Ikuya. To find people he wants to get to know. He doesn't want to let go of that. 

What does it _matter_ if Kinjo knows? 

It matters, though. It matters because Kinjo is exactly the kind of asshole he doesn't want around these people. 

That means that Kinjo is his responsibility. What's the most responsible way to deal with Kinjo? 

He rolls over, digs out his phone with what feels like monumental effort. The English group chat has a few hundred rapid-fire messages that he's behind on at this point, but they'll keep. He stares again at Kinjo's message. 

_My responsibility._

So far, that's meant keeping him distracted. Playing innocent should count, and it isn't that hard. 

So he messages back. _Sometimes. How about you?_

He rolls back over in bed, stares at the dark ceiling. Drags himself up and puts on pajamas, then brushes his teeth, because there is an order to things and if he doesn't do these steps as soon as it comes into his head to do them, he probably won't sleep for at least another several hours. 

He has other things to do and deal with, but he can't quite recall what they all are and can't decide what's most important. It doesn't really matter anyway. He's got all day to deal with whatever's coming, after all. 

It's not like there's anyone there to see. 

* * *

There's a fist clenched in his shirt. It will tear if he resists, so he goes with it when he's tugged sideways, when he falls to the asphalt. His bicycle crashes next to him, painful little pricks of metal. Hot summer sun stings in his eyes, on his skin. 

Reflects off something bright and shimmering—heat haze off the asphalt? No—

Shouts in his ears, words and phrases he doesn't entirely understand but that grow sharper as he focuses on them. He tries to dissect each one's meaning, but they come on so fast. _Generic epithet. Japanese epithet. I think that one's technically for Chinese people, how racist can you get? Okay, that one's about my personality, that's fair. That one's saying I have a disability, it's cruel to make fun of people who actually do..._

Some of the words, he hadn't known when they'd happened, just like he hadn't known whether to expect a kick or a punch or a tug on his hair or a swipe at his glasses. He'd protected those (they were expensive and he didn't want to be a bother, had never lost a pair and didn't intend to start now), and his face as best he could as well, but otherwise he'd stayed quiet, trying to get as many clues as he could about what was happening to him. 

That didn't mean he didn't feel the blows, or remember exactly what they felt like. And he remembered the words, well enough to look most of them up later. 

And as dread twisted in the pit of his stomach, the words he'd been waiting for came, rising around him like a storm, until they had teeth of their own that tore at his skin. 

_They know, they_ know _, how can they know, what did I_ do—

Ripples again, of light on his face. Between the lithe bodies of the faceless children that surrounded him, but not heat waves from the asphalt. The concrete underneath him has turned a sandy brown, a few long-soaked-in damp patches against his skin, and he's still in his clothes with his bike but he's by the poolside, that's not right—

—and that doesn't matter, because Ikuya is drowning. 

His glasses are gone so he can't see straight, can only see the faintest hint of the small body thrashing just under the surface, one final shape that might be a child's hand almost breaking the surface and then disappearing, the water going still. 

There are people around but they aren't looking, they haven't noticed, and Hiyori's still pinned down and surrounded, but that's okay. He'll move. He needs to move...

"Ikuyaaa!" 

His voice is shrill and panicked in his own throat, higher than it should be anymore, and he's so small and weak, the children around him still yelling and not moving out of his way. He lashes out, skinny arms flying, but he can't get _past_ them and some frantic part of him is already trying to count the time Ikuya's been under, how much longer Hiyori has to get him above the surface before all hope is lost, but he can't remember the number and the count keeps flowing away from him. 

He breaks out of the ring, but there are still hands on his shirt, on his hair, the collar of his shirt digging into his neck. 

He's out of time, but he yells desperately anyway, not sure what language he's using anymore or if any sound is coming out of his throat. 

"Somebody help him!!" 

* * *

He only recalls bits and pieces after that, and he wakes up thinking that he needs to call Natsuya and tell him that he's failed. 

It's not the first time this has happened, though, so Hiyori knows what to do. Thoughts he has in bed can't always be trusted, so he needs to be patient and calm down and remember what's real before he goes to bother someone else about them. 

When he thinks about it, it doesn't make sense. The timing doesn't line up—he just saw Ikuya drown in the height of summer, and it's definitely autumn now. And he isn't a little kid anymore. And he talked to Ikuya yesterday—that definitely happened. 

So it was a dream. 

Hiyori takes a deep, slow, quiet breath, and then turns over and buries his face in the pillow, counts how many heartbeats he can wait before has to turn his head and breathe. 

Eventually he drags himself out of bed, but he can't quite shake the feeling of sluggish unease from yesterday. It takes forever to get ready, he has to track down several things he's managed to misplace, and doesn't sit down to get work done until late morning. He finishes an assignment or two—slapdash, and he knows it's terrible, but he's not sure he'll get another chance to work on it and he can't bring himself to care. 

He's never this scattered when he has someone else he's looking out for, but that's just another sign that he has so much work to do. He hates that it's upsetting to think abouut how Ikuya has plans to hang out with people who aren't him, even though logically speaking, it's wonderfully convenient not to have to make an excuse for needing to be by himself. It's not a practice day, so he doesn't even have swim practice to save him from stewing over nothing.

It's nothing. 

But when the afternoon comes and he has nothing left demanding his immediate attention, when he finally gets sick of pretending it's nothing and tries to figure out what is wrong, all he gets is the giant splash from Ikuya's fall a few days before. The upset turn of his mouth, the way his eyes skittered away from Hiyori.

The memory, played so many times that it'd be familiar if it weren't also terrifying, of a slight body disappearing into the depths.

But there's no reason to worry about that, because Ikuya is fine.

And even that doesn't help his mood, because once he's convinced himself of that he just ends up stewing on how he's not suitable company for anyone and how he doesn't know how to fix it before swim practice tomorrow, much less the book club. 

It's a rotten mood, and he has people he doesn't want to lose. That's a bad combination.

He tries his best to take advantage of the time he has to himself. He tries to work a little bit ahead on his work. He tries to tidy up his apartment. He puts all the books he's gotten from the library—most unfinished, but none close to their return date yet, thankfully—into a neat pile on his coffee table. 

The copy of fairytales sits at the top of the pile, staring at him. 

He's perversely tempted to reread "The Little Mermaid," but he hides the copy under an English fantasy novel and goes to the pool instead. 

* * *

It's a quiet relief to see that the pool is more than half-empty, with only a few half-hearted swimmers and several lanes open. He swims and he swims, and it helps. He remembers Haruka's form in the water, the way he worked with it, the way it worked with him. He goes at his own pace, and suddenly it feels faster and faster. There's no one to time him, but he's willing to bet—at least privately—that this is some of the best swimming he's ever done, or at least in the top 10th percentile.

Despite everything, he feels good. He feels lighter than he has in what feels like a long time. 

He gets out of the water, shaky and sated, and everything hits him all over again like an avalanche. 

His limbs have all the awkward weight that they always gain when he leaves the water, but they won't stop trembling, and it's a struggle to walk straight-backed to the showers, to find a shower in an out-of-the-way corner and fold into a ball and break down. 

Then he starts crying—great, dumb, heaving sobs that leave him like coughs, like he can't breathe right, that he desperately tries to muffle and hide behind the spray of water. He doesn't know what's happening—nothing like this has ever happened to him before. Even in his darkest moments, he's seldom cried. He's rarely ever made any noise, much less sounds like this, like he's some sort of injured animal, like he's a fish gasping on the shore. 

He wonders if someone will find him, like this, and what he'll say if they see he can't stand straight while he's changing, the way he has to pause halfway and rest his elbows on his knees and take deep, gulping breaths and press his damp towel against his face, over and over again. 

But nobody comes, and nobody sees. It's like he isn't even there, like none of this is real. 

But it hurts. And worse, he's scared. He doesn't know what this is, and so he can't figure out how to get rid of it on his own. 

He's sick of this. 

He picks up his phone and scrolls through his contacts—no response from Kinjo yet, which is odd, but welcome—and types out a message before his mind can catch up with what he's doing. He's pretty sure he remembers what Ikuya said right, and if he doesn't, he'll deal with it later. 

It's one of the scarier things he's done, even lately, to try to get in touch out of the blue when he's at less than his best. But he does it anyway.

* * *

Hiyori spends about fifteen minutes in the locker room teasing himself back to something resembling normalcy. It's not so weird for swimmers to occasionally get irritated eyes, but he puts his eyedrops in his pocket, to be safe. 

He hurries back to drop his things off before he's on his way to the café, half an hour ahead of time. He knows enough social mores, at least, to know it can't hurt to be on the safe side.

It's amazing, the way he can keep moving when he has somewhere to be, when there's someone he doesn't want to disappoint. The thought makes his throat tighten, so he shoves it away. 

True to form, Makoto shows up a full fifteen minutes earlier than promised, looking a bit out of breath with hurry all the same. "Sorry, sorry!" he says cheerfully, waving as he arrives. "Did I keep you waiting?"

"No, I just got here." He waves a hand at the café. "Come on, it's not normally too crowded this time of day."

"Ahh, this looks great!"

He and Makoto aren't really close, but Makoto proves quickly that he's the kind of person that it's genuinely fun to take somewhere new. He's enthusiastic and attentive, pointing out details and genuinely enjoying himself to a level that would seem cloying for most people. On him, though, it manages to be kind of cute.

Okay, at least one of Ikuya's friends is a genuine sweetheart. It's official.

He might even be able to become friends with Makoto, he thinks quietly to himself, as he gets the same jelly drink he got last time just to hear Makoto exclaim over the colorful stars. Even at his level of people skills, with someone like Makoto, it seems possible.

Eventually, Makoto's level of enthusiasm calms to a more quiet sort of enjoyment, and they sip at their drinks together. Makoto has a cake, and Hiyori ordered a small gratin that he tries not to pick at too obviously. He'd mostly wanted to keep Makoto company; he isn't very hungry.

"Are you sure this is okay?" he asks finally, having selfishly waited long enough that there's no chance Makoto is going to change his mind. "I'm a little surprised you weren't with Nanase today." 

Makoto shakes his head. "You caught me at just the right moment—I've got swim practice and lessons on the weekends now. I was going to join Haru-chan and the others a bit later." He pauses, leans forward slightly. "You're welcome to join us if you want, you know." 

Hiyori can mentally picture Ikuya's friends' probable response to that and barely avoids a wince. "That's okay," he said. "I just wanted to...check in, I guess." 

"Check in?" Makoto asks. 

"Yeah," Hiyori says, warming to his subject. "You seem like you can be...discreet." 

Makoto's head tilts to one side. "What's this about?" 

"Well..." Hiyori purses his lips. "Do you know who Kinjo Kaede is?" 

Makoto frowns a bit, as if trying to recall. "He's...another swimmer, right? Up and coming, but he's not at either of our schools, right? I think I remember hearing a little bit about him during the All-Japan Invitational, maybe." 

"Yep, that's the one. Bright orange hair, terrible attitude..." Hiyori makes a face. "I heard a rumor that he was going after some other swimmers lately—harassment campaigns and the like. Nanase's team members haven't mentioned anything about that, have they?" 

Makoto frowns harder. "Not that I've heard of," he says. "Who's he been targeting?" 

"Well, he came after me briefly a few months ago," Hiyori said blithely, and feels a guilty little swoop in his stomach at Makoto's transparent look of concern. "It was fine—Natsuya-kun and Yamazaki-kun helped Ikuya run him off, and he seems to have left Ikuya alone since. But I've still seen him around here and there, and...I was just wondering." 

"No," Makoto says. "No, I haven't heard anything like that. That's...a little scary." 

"Hopefully I'm just imagining things," Hiyori says. "He seems to have issues with close-knit groups and, well...I wanted to let you know, because Nanase and the others seem pretty close. I'm not sure he wouldn't go after you if you caught his attention, either. That's not to say that he would do anything but be generally unpleasant, but...forewarned is forearmed, and everything." 

"That's true..." 

Hiyori chuckles, then, and sits back, running a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry," he says, at Makoto's slightly startled look, "I didn't mean to scare you. I've just been meaning to ask, that's all. It isn't a big deal." 

"If you...say so?" Makoto still looks perplexed, so Hiyori tries to project as much calm as he can. 

"It's really not," he says. "Ikuya's always telling me I worry too much. He's a little bit of a hypocrite, though. I didn't want to ask him because he'd get distracted, and that would be giving Kinjo what he wants." 

Makoto relaxes a little, finally. "Oh," he says. "That makes sense." 

Hiyori nods, relieved. "Good. Now that's out of the way, we can just enjoy each others' company." 

Makoto shoots him a furtive glance, and Hiyori tries not to squirm. Okay, that had probably been laying it on too thick. He's really glad Makoto is around, though. 

"About that..." Makoto says, sipping calmly at his bubble tea, "don't get me wrong, I'm delighted you invited me out here, but…is everything all right, Hiyori? You seem a little on-edge."

He almost freezes, or chokes on his drink, or flails his way through an excuse, but…at the same time, what else could he really have expected?

He sighs, but only a little. Keeps the smile, because it's probably better than the alternative. "I guess I might be, a little," he says evenly. "I guess today's been a bit of an off day. I found myself wanting company."

"Sure, but…" Makoto raises one self-deprecating shoulder. "Why me?"

He swallowed. "I…'ve never really invited someone somewhere before. Other than Ikuya, I mean."

"Oh." The word is quiet, barely an exhale, and full of understanding. 

Hiyori huffs out a small, humorless laugh, keeps his eye on his drink. "Yeah."

"Well…" Makoto stirs at his drink a little, suddenly restless. "I know we're not exactly close, but…do you want to talk about it? I'm willing to listen."

He glances up, searching Makoto's face. He can't help it. He's used a tone close to that on Ikuya, so many times—trying to be calm, to be nonthreatening, trying not to push. Putting up a front of harmless, neutral curiosity.

But he can sense nothing of desperation in Makoto's gaze. Just kindness, and a little bit of concern.

Dammit, why could he never be like that?

His eyes sting again, and he hates it. He rubs at them with one hand.

"No," he says, and rests his wrists firmly on the table, hands closed and facing downwards. "No, not really. I'd rather talk about something pleasant." He gives Makoto a careful glance. "How is your swim team doing, anyway? Ikuya said you had some promising swimmers you were doing extra practices with?"

Makoto lights up at the mention of his part-time job, and starts gushing over his students' accomplishments. Hiyori finds himself smiling as he listens. Makoto's a great coach who's chosen a good path for himself, which is even more impressive given he's still running around after aspiring professionals, as well. It's one heck of a balancing act, at least from the outside. But he seems happy, and Hiyori supposes that's the important thing.

He says something to that effect, saying what's in his head without really paying attention to it, and to his surprise Makoto actually sits up a little straighter.

"Actually," he says quietly, "I've been thinking lately. About what I want to after I graduate."

He has the half-excited look of someone with news to share, and a secret he wants to tell. Hiyori feels a smile grow on his face all on its own. "What is it?"

"I think…" Makoto says, and there's a quiet joy that's trying to burst out of him that even Hiyori can see clearly, "that I want to be a trainer. At the world-class level, if I can get there."

It's not so much the goal—though leave it to Makoto not to let his aspirations fall too far behind those of his friends—as it is the sheer enthusiasm with which he says it that has Hiyori grinning.

"Congratulations," he says, and absolutely means it.

Makoto puts a sheepish hand to the back of his head. "Well, I've gone and said it, but really I've really only started to look into it. I'm not even sure yet if I can."

"You'll find a way," Hiyori says firmly.

Makoto looks surprised, but that doesn't give Hiyori pause. He's seen it plenty of times over the years, after all: sometimes, the best people just don't know how to accept praise, even when they've earned it ten times over.

"I mean it," he continues. "You're one of the kindest people I've met, and even more importantly, you understand people. You got what was going on with me and Ikuya practically as soon as you met us, didn't you? By the third or fourth time we spoke, you were already telling me exactly what my problem was. And you were so nice about it I couldn't even get mad."

"You seemed a little mad to me," Makoto interjects, amused.

"Only because you called me out," Hiyori admits sheepishly, and his gaze skitters away for a second. "But seriously, if it had been anyone else, I don't know if the words would've made it through to me." He looks back at Makoto, and smiles. "But anyway—I'm happy for you."

Makoto beams at him. "Thank you, Hiyori-kun. That means a lot."

Hiyori's honestly not sure if it should mean much of anything, aside from the fact that he's right, but Makoto seems as genuine as ever. "Anytime," he says, and it comes out a little stiff, but from the glance he sneaks at Makoto's face, Makoto seems to know he means it.

Their conversation after that stays light. Makoto's not much of a reader, sadly, but luckily for both of them he's quite the conversationalist; where Hiyori would have run out of topics fairly quickly, Makoto always has something new to talk about, even though they don't know each other particularly well.

Hiyori does keep one eye on the time, because the last thing he wants to do is make Makoto late for the job he so clearly enjoys. It just so happens that the clock is by the door, and he's facing both; and so he notices Ikuya come in before Makoto does.

Of course he notices Ikuya immediately; he's been watching him for years. It's the way his hair falls in front of his face and sways when he moves; it's the odd mixture of stiff and supple that makes up his posture in motion, so different from his more sinuous path through water; it's the way his gaze seems to precede him in any room he enters, so that Hiyori sometimes imagines he can feel his presence before he sees his face. He'd felt a moment of foreboding as the door even opened; now, he's frozen as Ikuya scans the room, and only barely manages to bring his eyes back to Makoto before Ikuya's eyes find him.

He's pretty quick at it. They'd been here before, and though Hiyori chose a different table today, it's close to the last one.

"Hiyori-kun?" Makoto says, tilting his head. "Is something wrong?"

"No, not really," Hiyori says. "Anyway, you were saying, about the curriculum? I have to admit, I never thought that so many disciplines would be tied into—oh, Ikuya!"

(He can pretend that he didn't see Ikuya come in, but he can't bring himself to pretend not to notice him once he's in range for a conversation and bearing down fast.)

Makoto's eyes widen a fraction in what Hiyori thinks might be understanding—hopes isn't pity—before he turns around and greets Ikuya as well.

"Did you want to order something?" he adds, gesturing at the seat. It's more genuine coming from him than it would be from Ikuya, even given that he's more-or-less the guest in this scenario; he's smooth as well as kind, giving off an easy air of maturity.

"…No, I," Ikuya pauses and seems to rethink what he was saying, and looks over at Hiyori. Something in his expression twists. "I just…"

"You can join if you want," Hiyori says, and dammit, he doesn't know what to do with his face. It's weird, isn't it, that he's invited Makoto and didn't clear it with Ikuya beforehand? Makoto is one of Ikuya's friends, so it's definitely weird. 

It had seemed justifiable enough, before, but now with Ikuya looking at him like there's something strange stuck to his face, he's wondering whether he miscalculated. It wasn't like he'd really been thinking.

Makoto's eyes flicker between them as Ikuya slides silently into a seat. He takes the one next to Hiyori, angled on the edge of the seat so he can keep him in his sights.

He has, Hiyori notes for probably the thousandth time, very pretty eyes. Right now they're expressive, and hurt in a way that has Hiyori searching for an extra sheen, the first hint of tears. He couldn't possibly have hurt Ikuya that badly, right? Not with one weird thing?

"Hiyori," he says in a low voice. "What's wrong?" 

Hiyori opens his mouth on reflex, freezes. He looks between he and Makoto. Ikuya has just dragged the conversation somewhere his grasp of polite social norms won't reach. 

He finds, to his horror, that he can't speak at all. 

He has to look down and shake himself—actually literally shake, shudder like he's trying to shed water droplets poolside—before he can speak. If he can reset, just ignore the awkwardness, maybe it will just disappear, uncommented-upon. "Nothing's wrong," he says, carefully smooth. "I knew you were busy, but you didn't mention Makoto joining you, and I was thinking it had been a while since we talked. That's all." 

Finally, he looks up to meet Ikuya's eye, and stops short. 

Ikuya is upset. 

The knowledge knocks a hole in Hiyori's gut even before he's consciously put it together, before he can put words to what he's seeing. It's the tilt of his brow and the straight-on stare in his eye, the way his mouth is slightly open and his chest is hitched like he stopped breathing while he was waiting. 

A second later, he unfreezes, takes a breath and seems to be winding down, but the frown stays. 

"You know you could've just come with me, right? If you wanted company." 

Hiyori coughs a bit, polite disbelief. "I appreciate the sentiment, but I'm not sure Shiina or Nanase would," he says. "Makoto is a really good-hearted and conscientious person, so I thought maybe I should start by getting along with him." 

Makoto beams at the compliment, even with how unnaturally it was phrased. _See?_ Hiyori thinks. _Gracious._

"Okay, fine." Ikuya sighs, a small, frustrated sound. "But...seriously, is everything okay? You look a little like you've been crying." 

In that moment, it's painfully clear to Hiyori that Ikuya's incredible intensity, which had once been focused mostly inward and on swimming, is now focused on squarely on him. 

"Ahaha, do I?" One hand to the back of his neck, a little bit sheepish. Keep those traitorous bloodshot eyes closed—he has no clue what they're doing still looking off, it's been a couple hours since his breakdown. "I got a little swim practice in earlier today. I guess my eyes got irritated when I wasn't paying attention." 

Ikuya frowns at him, mouth at a particular angle that hints he's about to say something rash. "That's..."

"That's...not really what it looks like from here," Makoto hums suddenly, calm, patient. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, though." 

The words are so out of left field that Hiyori actually doesn't react at all—it takes that long to process what Makoto just did. Why would he suddenly say that, suddenly take Ikuya's side? 

But with the moment of surprise comes perspective, which lets Hiyori ask the question he's been missing: why is Ikuya even here in the first place? 

The answer comes to him immediately, because it's obvious: Makoto must have told Ikuya they were meeting, without asking if that was what Hiyori wanted. 

Moreoever, if Ikuya's now here...how much did Makoto tell him?

The anger that rises in him is unexpected, and tastes alarmingly like tears. Makoto and Ikuya again, but he doesn't care. All he knows is that he needs _out_ , out from under these stares that are trying to take him apart and find everything they'd hate him for. 

"Hiyori?" Ikuya's frowning again. "Are you going to say anything?" 

Hiyori is, suddenly, able to find a smile, if not quite the one he might've hoped for. "No real point, is there?" he says back blithely. "You both seem to have it covered, figuring me out. I thought you might not be done deciding what I'm feeling. Please, take your time." 

Makoto looks stunned. Well, he would—Makoto starts with that incredible understanding of his, and then finds exactly the words to open people up like flowers coaxed into bloom. All Hiyori has are the words—pretty words printed in books, read over and over in lonely classrooms and parks and bedrooms, words that he can wield finely as knives and that can so easily injure instead of aid. As much as they both have people they cheer on, their experiences of doing so must be entirely different.

Ikuya's frown just deepens. 

"Oh, actually, would you look at that? I'm just about done." He stands, picks up his tableware, and smiles down at Makoto and Ikuya, eyes sliding shut on their own. He's sick of being looked at. "You two should take the chance to catch up before you meet back up with your other friends. Enjoying each others' company would be a better use of your collective time than talking about me behind my back…but I guess what you do when I'm not around is up to you. If you'll excuse me." 

If he's cruel and cutting, he thinks distantly, it can't hurt that he's at least _pretending_ to be polite. He doesn't wait for them to reply, sweeping off. He has to correct himself quickly so his hip misses the bussing counter, and then he rushes over over without the receipt and sheepishly recites his order, pretending he's in a hurry and has somewhere to be. The clerk is nice about it, at least.

Adults and professionals, he thinks distantly, are much more reliable than friends. Is it any wonder he's always been inclined to curry favor with the former rather than the latter?

He doesn't let the door hit him on his way out, but he hears a tinkling sound that indicates that someone behind him has caught it. 

"Hiyori." 

Facts run through his head in quick, logical succession: Ikuya's just arrived, which means he doesn't have a tab to pay, which means there's nothing stopping him from just following Hiyori out of the café. If Ikuya's leaving, there is no reasonable excuse to try to part ways with him…unless he can come up with an errand or an excuse in the next few seconds. 

He is too tired and overwhelmed to think of anything creative, but decides to give it one last push. 

"I meant it, you know," he says, doggedly pleasant. "You should be with your friends right now." He releases a bit of his pent-up bitterness on a sigh, and tries again with a little bit more honesty, because Ikuya doesn't deserve his ire. "They're much better company than I am, at the moment." 

"I didn't come here to talk with Makoto," Ikuya says, equally stubborn. "You're worrying me. What's going on?" 

" _Nothing._ " He hunches as he says it, but it's aggravation. If he could come up with any sort of logical reason for feeling the way he has today, he wouldn't be this bothered by it. Probably. "I just woke up on the wrong side of the bed. I was hoping not to take it out on anyone, but...I guess inviting Makoto out was a mistake." He barks out a laugh. "Guess I'll need to apologize to him again. It's a good thing he's so nice, really." 

Of course it was a bad idea. He'd always dealt with his problems on his own, by himself. He has no experience dealing with potential splash damage, with keeping his temper, with the concept that problems are meant to be shared at all. What was he thinking? 

"Why did you invite him?" Ikuya echoes, and Hiyori's so surprised that they're on the same wavelength that he actually answers. 

"I guess I was just feeling lonely," he admits, and then wonders whether he's just lost utter control of his mouth. 

Ikuya leans in, and he looks frustrated, if not angry. "If you wanted to talk to someone, then why didn't you talk to me?" 

"I just..." _I didn't want to,_ he can't say. _I can't stand the thought of bothering you. I didn't want to see this_ exact look _on your face._

_Clang_ , goes the wall in his head, once again. There are so many wrong answers, and he's already messed up so much today, that Hiyori can't think of anything safe to say. 

Ikuya's expression, inexplicably, softens the slightest bit. "You know that you can, right? You can talk to me about these things." 

Finally—an out. "Yeah," he says immediately, grateful. "Of course." 

"Good," Ikuya says, though he still doesn't look happy. "So, Hiyori. Is there anything you want to talk about?" 

Hiyori pretends to think about it, and then shakes his head. "It really is nothing very important—"

"Don't _lie_." 

The words are unexpectedly loud. Hiyori steps back reflexively, part of him waiting for a shove. 

"That's not true," Ikuya says again, and he steps forward into Hiyori's space, insistent. "You're upset. That's not nothing. This isn't _like_ you. You don't—” Ikuya breaks off and shakes his head, frustrated. "I don't get what's going on with you, and I won't be able to until you _tell_ me." 

Someone here needs to be calm, Hiyori realizes distantly. He's watched Ikuya wind himself up like this before, though it's the first time it's been about him. He takes a breath, even, and lets it out again. 

"You're right," he says. "This isn't like me. I'm having an bad day, okay? Like you do sometimes." 

Ikuya subsides a bit, but he's still glaring. 

"I'm going to be okay," Hiyori says. "I'm going to go home and take a nap and calm down. I'll see you at practice tomorrow, all right?" 

Ikuya takes a long time to answer. When he does, his voice is quiet. "Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?" 

"Not today," Hiyori says. 

"Okay," Ikuya says. He blows out a long breath. "I'm sorry for pushing you," he adds in a mutter. 

"I'm sorry I got mad," Hiyori says, equally quiet. "I don't want to ruin your time with your friends, so go have a good time for me?" 

He gets a spark of a glare at that, but then Ikuya firms his lip and nods. "Fine." 

"Thanks," Hiyori says. It's a stupid thing to say, a little, but it also feels like the only thing that's gone right since he saw Ikuya walk into the café. "I'll see you tomorrow." 

Ikuya nods, and the door to the café opens. Hiyori turns and heads off to the bus stop, not looking back, in case it's Makoto.

If he can barely manage civility towards Ikuya at the moment, clearly he should wait a bit before talking to anyone else, either. 

* * *

On the bus back Shimogami, he feels his phone virate silently in his pocket, and takes it out on reflex. 

_I promise, I didn't tell him,_ one text from a few minutes ago reads. It's from Makoto.

The second one is the one that just arrived. _But I did tell Haru I was with you, and that you seemed out of sorts. I guess he passed it on. I'm sorry._

_It's fine,_ he texts back, and sighs inwardly. One mystery solved, and one added; apparently Makoto isn't the only busybody in his group of friends, but he wouldn't have expected it of Nanase.

_That's kind of you to say, but I don't really think it is._

_I shouldn't have betrayed your trust like that. I wasn't trying to hurt you, but that's no excuse._

He sees the alert for both messages, and doesn't bother to open them or mark them as read. Instead, he puts his phone back in his pocket, feeling regretful. He really is going to need to apologize to Makoto for dragging him into the middle of trouble like this. And he can't even find it in him to be annoyed with Nanase, not really. It seems rare for him to interfere, and he didn't have enough information to go on. It was all just an unfortunate misunderstanding.

This is still a terrible situation, but he's not really mad about it anymore. It is what it is, and he's stewing in some bitter sort of acceptance, the type where he's grateful the bus is still running, he's standing looking like an ordinary person, there is no shouting or crying, and there's a sense that he's only one in a sea of commuters getting where they're trying to go. It's a nice enough afternoon, a moment of reprieve and stasis against his own mind. He was always comfortable being in public spaces, safely anonymous but surrounded nonetheless by company. 

Sometimes, he thinks it's one of the least lonely ways he knows how to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Hiyori has a nightmare (so unreality) involving bullying and character death, and then later on has more or less an anxiety attack. I think that covers the main points. 
> 
> It's a little hard for me to judge these sorts of things, but to me this is a particularly dark and difficult chapter in places. Things are still going to get better in this story, but it's going to take a while. Please read your angst responsibly—I recommend reading fluff along with angst, especially in these difficult times. It's certainly what I've been doing lately. 
> 
> Until next week!


	10. Window Panes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ikuya starts learning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another late, long chapter, lol. I ended up cutting half of my original version of this, but then adding other parts until it was longer than when I started editing. Oops.

Ikuya stares up at the display in front of the café, mainly so he doesn't stare after Hiyori as he walks away. It's overcast today, dim enough that the well-lit, bright plastic models wash out his own reflection. Which is for the best, because he doesn't really want to see what his expression looks like right now. 

Hiyori had spent that whole conversation saying _get away_ without saying it—without even trying to ask for space, he'd gone on the attack and then run away, and the surprise of that, the force behind it, hurts more than Ikuya would like to think Hiyori intends. 

Hiyori wouldn't do this on purpose, would he? He's always been so protective, so careful. Ikuya's seen that unhappy hook in his mouth before, right after the first time they'd argued. It had been hard to make out in the dim light of the playground at dusk, but this time, in the bright lights of the café, it had been impossible to mistake. It looked like Hiyori had been about to cry—or start crying again. 

Part of him is in near-panic at the thought that Hiyori is angry with him, but that look hurts even more. The further away Hiyori goes, the stronger Ikuya's impulse to run after him and _force_ him to talk so Ikuya can figure out how to make things better. 

Because Ikuya remembers what happened between them the last time he was mad at Hiyori. Remembers his own mumbled "Sorry," all he could manage in the tumult of emotions crashing through him—the ones that had already been overwhelming him against a crush of new ones, against frustration at being unable to listen to Hiyori's praise, and anger that Hiyori was telling him to forget about some of his dearest friends, and guilt at the look that he'd somehow put on Hiyori's face.

He remembers how awkward and awful it felt after that, to know Hiyori was keeping his distance for a damned good reason. How he'd felt justified in his anger and how unwilling he'd been to be the first to apologize. How he'd all but pushed Hiyori out of his life, if only for a few days. 

He remembers how terrible he'd felt about what he'd done to Hiyori, the whole time they'd been apart, but...

But back then, it was good that Hiyori hadn't pushed. Things had been so messed up in his head that Hiyori's efforts to help only made things worse. So...so it's probably better to give Hiyori the space he's asking for. For now, anyway. 

Hiyori, at least, tried to do damage control immediately. He's stronger than Ikuya in that way. There's the possibility that if Ikuya just does as he says, just waits till tomorrow and sits whatever's going on out, that Hiyori will back to his normal self tomorrow...or, perhaps more likely, back to faking it. Ikuya can't think of what else to do but agree. 

Out of nowhere, there's a hand on his shoulder. "Is everything all right?" Makoto asks. He's grown, Ikuya thinks; he doesn't sound anxious when he asks it, not the way he used to. He asks it like it's fine for the answer to be "no" right now, because that doesn't mean it'll stay that way forever. 

It is stupidly tempting to lean on Makoto and just...hold on. He's too numb to cry yet, too surprised—he never expected something like this out of Hiyori and it's like the deck of his ship has tipped and left him floundering in the waves. 

But he doesn't. He bites his lip and pulls himself together. He's strong enough to stand on his own, and there are more important things to do right now than freak out. He was surprised, fine—what matters now is how he responds to it. 

"Not yet," he says. "Will you come back with me to Haru's place?" He feels his voice start to rasp, and wills it firm. "I want to talk to the others." 

Makoto squeezes his shoulder. "Okay." 

* * *

Ikuya files back into Haru's room quietly, a couple steps behind Makoto. He'd left his stuff in the rush to go see what was going on, half-thinking about using that as an excuse to get Hiyori to come back with him. 

By the time he comes into the main room, Makoto's expression has already caught everyone's attention. Asahi cranes his head, extremely obvious, to check if there's anyone behind him, and when he doesn't, breathes a not-so-subtle sigh of relief. Ikuya tries not to glare at him. 

"What happened?" Haru demands, still sitting where he'd been before, but with his book down on the table. 

Ikuya sighs and bites his lip. "He's angry with me." 

"Why?" Asahi demands, immediately indignant on his behalf, and Makoto starts to speak before he realizes he's interrupting. "I don't think—” 

Ikuya ignores them both and goes to sit back where he was, grabbing his textbook and shoving it back into his bag. 

"How do you know?" Haru asks, and Ikuya pauses for a moment before continuing. 

"I just do."

Makoto sets his phone aside and sighs. "It's my fault, I think," he says. 

Asahi jumps in with what Ikuya's thinking: "No way!" 

"No, I'm serious," Makoto says, ignoring the way Asahi bristles. "Hiyori came to me expecting privacy, and I didn't realize that." 

Haru, across from him, stiffens and goes quiet. 

"He didn't want to talk to me," Ikuya says, lowly. "I don't think that's your fault, though, Makoto. You knew that I'd want to know if Hiyori was in trouble, and you were just trying to help. So it's more my fault, I think." 

He doesn't say the words to Haru, but he likes to think that Haru hears anyway. Haru had seemed so confident when he'd told Ikuya where Hiyori was and that he needed him that Ikuya hadn't even questioned it. He hates the lost look in Haru's eye now. 

"What's up with that?" Asahi demands. "Did he have, like, secrets or something?" He holds up his hands as Makoto turns toward him. "I mean, come on, I'm not expecting you to tell us _what_ , but like, _is_ he hiding something?" 

"I don't know," Makoto says, folding his arms and looking away. "I'm not sure what I should be saying right now." 

Ikuya's heart aches for him. Makoto is the last person who'd hurt someone else on purpose, even someone he's had trouble with in the past. 

"What actually happened?" Asahi demands. 

Ikuya shrugs and looks to Makoto. They try their best to explain. It feels like the room gets dimmer as they do so, but at least some of Haru's guilty look turns into something more contemplative. 

"An 'off-day,' huh," Asahi says when they're finished. "That doesn't give him a free pass to be a dick to either of you, but..." 

"I don't think he was trying to be mean," Makoto argues.

"You know, I actually believe that," Asahi says. "I mean, considering how he was when he went after Haru before..." He looks to Ikuya. "What does 'upset' even look like on him, when he's actually not trying to bite someone's head off?" Asahi sounds remarkably free of spite for the words coming out of his mouth. 

Ikuya feels his hackles rise anyway. "Hiyori doesn't…" He pauses, and it feels like ice is crawling into his veins as he realizes the lie he was about to tell.

_Hiyori doesn't get upset._

Only he does. 

He's seen Hiyori upset. He's seen him yelling, he's seen him terrified, he's seen him sad. He's seen so many emotions from Hiyori, and he'd been about to discount all of them, because every negative emotion he's ever seen from Hiyori has been on Ikuya's behalf. 

There are two possible conclusions to draw from that—or, at least, two that immediately claim his attention and make him snap his mouth shut. 

The first is that, just like all those other times, Hiyori is still upset about him—but because he feels all right, now, it must be about something he's done. That might also explain why he wouldn't talk to Ikuya about it directly. 

The second possibility is worse. Perhaps Hiyori _has_ been upset before, while they've been together, and Ikuya has just never seen it, because Hiyori's always hid it from him. 

There's not even anything to say that it can't be both of those things at the same time. In fact, it's probably both. 

(Does Hiyori not feel like he can talk to him about it? Hiyori's always pushed him to talk about everything, but Ikuya can only remember a handful of times Hiyori's confided in him...) 

"Doesn't what?" Asahi asks, drawing him back out of his own head. Ikuya pulls up his knees and rests his chin on them. He wants to curl up on himself, but tries to make it look contemplative instead of forlorn. 

"I don't know," he mumbles. 

If Hiyori is…upset, and talking to someone he's barely spoken to before instead of Ikuya, then there are some conclusions that seem pretty obvious to draw. That doesn't mean he _wants_ to. Because Hiyori has only ever played games with other people, not with him. He has always been patient, up-front, yielding, unflinching from everything Ikuya is…

…and he's been holding back all this time. That much, at least, is becoming ever more painfully obvious.

Still, none of that explains why he would choose to confide in one of Ikuya's friends. 

"Hiyori seems...like a complicated person," Makoto says, looking between Ikuya and Asahi with worry. "Honestly, it's a little hard to know what he's thinking..." 

Haru, meanwhile, is giving Ikuya a long look. There's nothing in it that makes him want to fidget, or blush; instead, he finds himself waiting with bated breath, wondering what it is Haru's seeing with those clear, blue eyes of his. 

It hadn't taken him long, when he was younger, to start admiring Haruka's wisdom. Haru's already saved him from himself; maybe he can help save his relationship with Hiyori, too. Maybe he can see what Ikuya's been missing. 

"Who else does he talk to?" he asks. 

Ikuya thinks for a moment, and an idea comes to him. "...I'm messaging Kisumi." 

"Oh!" Makoto smiles. "Good idea."

Ikuya's glad that Kisumi responds when he messages him, and gladder still that he doesn't take long to arrive. He's in jeans and a T-shirt, but his hair's still faintly damp with sweat, and he seems boneless and worn-out when he arrives. He's also got that same unflappable cheerfulness as ever, which Ikuya can't help but appreciate. 

"Hiyori, huh?" he says. "Well, he does seem like he's been under a lot of stress lately. Maybe he needs some time on his own to recharge?" 

"I...guess that's possible," Ikuya allows. "But he asked Makoto to hang out with him—"

"I think Hiyori's trying to meet new people lately," Kisumi says, putting his hands behind his head. "And he said he was having a bad day, right?" 

Ikuya frowns. "Yeah..." 

"Well, talking things out isn't the only way to deal with problems, you know? Sometimes you want a distraction." Kisumi nods at Makoto. "So if he said he doesn't want to talk about it, maybe he just wanted a chance to unwind." 

Ikuya glanced around at the others. Makoto looked a little bit guilty, still, and Asahi was frowning like he was considering what Kisumi was saying, but Haru at least seemed like he might've been as lost at this idea as Ikuya was. "So you're saying he was talking to Makoto and not me because..." 

"Because you know him too well, maybe," Kisumi says, not unkindly. "Maybe he knew you would see something was wrong and would want to help him fix it. Besides, there's not just one kind of friend, you know? And Hiyori strikes me as kind of a people person, so I think it's actually a good sign he's spending time with other people." 

Asahi snorts at that, disbelieving. "What part of that guy is a people person?" 

Ikuya doesn't like his tone, but can't help but agree. 

Kisumi shrugs, but for the first time he won't quite meet Ikuya's eye. "It's just a feeling I get. He hasn't gotten sick of me inviting him to things, anyway." 

Ikuya frowns—something about Kisumi's reaction seems off—but his words have brought something else to mind. "That's right, he's got a thing tomorrow, too, right?" he asks. "Are you going to that, too?" 

Kisumi freezes. "Wait..." he says slowly. "What sort of thing? Did he say?" 

"No..." Ikuya says slowly. "Why?" 

"It's just..." Kisumi looks uncharacteristically grim. "I _did_ hear about something tomorrow—just the sort of thing Hiyori would be into, some sort of book club. One of the circle members invited me last week, but it's gonna be half in English, and I'm not super into reading anyway, so I said I wasn't going to go." 

"Okay..." That didn't explain his reaction, though. "So?"

"So...it's probably nothing, but...I wasn't the only one who heard the invitation." 

* * *

Practice with Hiyori the next day is...weird. 

He doesn't message Ikuya beforehand, the way he might have normally, and instead just shows up, shadows dark under his eyes and only barely on time, and Ikuya doesn't get the chance to talk to him until the break after warm-ups, when Shin and Kotarou have already joined them. Then, Hiyori pulls him into a conversation about training routines that ends up going really well, and which continues during the rest of their breaks. By the end of it, Ikuya fishes out his laptop to show the other two what he and Hiyori talked about on Friday, right there in the locker room. Shin and Kotarou seem impressed, which is a nice feeling, and even Hiyori seems optimistic. 

Ikuya hasn't forgotten his times, though. Today's were even worse than his new normal, and by this point it's impossible for Ikuya to believe that they aren't some sort of tell. He lags behind, hoping that Hiyori will take the hint and let the others file out ahead of them, but Hiyori joins the rest of the team as they leave instead, leaving Ikuya to pack up his laptop rapidly and hurry after him. 

"Hiyori—" he calls, and actually has to reach out and grab his sleeve as they're leaving. 

Hiyori immediately halts and turns, and something about the look on his face makes Ikuya's resolve wither away completely. "Yes?" 

"...Not today either?" Ikuya manages. 

It seems that Hiyori understands. "I'm...running a little late today, actually," he says. "I need to go." 

Ikuya bites his lip, and then nods. "Sure, that's right, you've got a thing today. Have a good time." 

Hiyori smiles, though it looks a bit tense. "Thanks. I'll see you later." 

"Okay." 

And he lets him go, walking slowly for a bit and then stopping against the side of a building to message Kisumi. _I'm on my way over. Where did you say we should meet again?_

He stops briefly at his dorm to drop off his stuff and then, following the directions Kisumi messages him back, takes takes a different bus than the one he usually uses to get to Hidaka. He meets up with Kisumi, Haru, Asahi, and Makoto at bust stop, and then they head off-campus together. It takes them all a little while to locate their destination. By the time they file into the bar, there's already a large table set up on the other side of the room, filled by a loud mix of Japanese and foreign young adults. 

Ikuya spots Hiyori in the crowd before Kisumi herds him away to a table with a clear line of sight to both the table and the street outside leading to the door. 

"Careful," he says, tugging on Ikuya's arm. "Unless you want to be spotted?" 

Ikuya ignores the jibe. "Thanks." He takes a seat between Makoto and Asahi, who's still complaining about having to be here. Across from him, Kisumi sits down beside Haru and examines the street over Ikuya's shoulder. 

"All right, all set up and ready to go!" he says, grinning between them like this is some fun spy game, and not a sign that Ikuya's gone completely out of his mind. "We should order some drinks, to blend in!" 

"We're not all of age," Makoto reminds him. 

"Details," Kisumi says airily. "I heard this place doesn't really check. What's everyone getting?" 

A few minutes later, they have their orders and are chatting—mainly Asahi grumbling good-spiritedly about being here and Ikuya sniping back with slightly less good grace while Makoto tries to keep things civil—when Kisumi sits up suddenly. Ikuya, following his gaze, sees a new guy walking over to the table. 

"That's my first cue," Kisumi says. "Be right back, okay?" 

"Yeah," Ikuya says. Before he can wish him luck, Kisumi goes. 

It's hard to judge from across the room how the conversation goes. The guy Kisumi's talking to is obviously foreign, but they seem to be communicating well enough. There's a bit where the other guy seems confused, and then serious, but Kisumi doesn't seem particularly worried by whatever they're saying. Then the conversation's over, and Kisumi bows while the foreigner nods awkwardly in return, and Kisumi comes back, wiping imaginary sweat from his brow. 

"Well!" he says. "That's handled. If Kinjo does show up, Sam said he'll make sure he doesn't stay." 

Ikuya nods. "That's good," he says. "I'm glad he agreed with you." 

"Yeah, I was a little worried, but he took it really seriously," Kisumi says. "It might've been what you told me that did it, though."

Ikuya nods. He hadn't liked that Kinjo had run into Hiyori again after Ikuya had promised Hiyori wouldn't have to deal with him again, but he'd had no way of knowing it would happen. Now, even if it's only indirect, he feels better throwing up one more barrier between that asshole and Hiyori. 

"Okay, great, mission accomplished, now can we leave?" Asahi grumbles. 

"But we just got here!" Kinjo says. "Besides, aren't you curious how this plays out?" 

Asahi makes a face, but doesn't argue further. Ikuya privately wonders whether he's just as invested in this absurd setup as Kisumi is, and is just embarrassed to admit it. Well, whatever. He's curious for his own reasons. 

Ikuya turns his attention to watching the table across the room. It's crowded, and not hard to stay out of notice. He keeps himself shadowed mostly behind Makoto, taking advantage of his larger frame. 

On the other side of the bar, Hiyori looks...nervous, Ikuya thinks. It's interesting to watch him when he thinks he's not being directly observed. He wears a polite smile similar to the one Ikuya is familiar with, most of the time; but when no one is talking to him it drops, and beneath it he looks nervous. He mutters things under his breath, sometimes, which Ikuya can tell at this distance only because his lips barely form the hints of words. He alternates between scanning the area and staring off into the distance, but instantly snaps back to the expression of someone having a good time whenever he thinks he's being noticed. 

Ikuya wonders whether the other people in the group buy it. From where he's sitting, outside Hiyori's ring of focus, it doesn't seem terribly convincing. 

And yet, Hiyori unsmiling is an oddly intimidating sight. He's...quiet, closed off, in a way that Ikuya isn't used to. He'd almost be worried about speaking to him, though the people nearest to him don't seem to be. Maybe, if they've noticed, they've also seen him switch back to his normal, placating self. Ikuya doesn't know. 

Then, the get-together begins in earnest. There's at least one foreigner speaking at all times, and Ikuya wouldn't have much hope of following the proceedings even if they weren't happening on the other side of a noisy room. Occasionally the others will nudge him, whispering, asking for updates, but all he can do is shake his head at them. 

For Hiyori, though, it seems to be different.

Where before he was more or less on the outside of things, he now has a couple foreigners on one side and some Japanese students on the other. He watches the people at the head of the table carefully, lips sometimes moving, lips visibly apart with concentration as he tries his best to absorb every word. He talks to one group and then another, as though trying to stitch them together. Sometimes, the people around him will look at each other over or behind him, and it's like he's barely there, a presence that exists to bridge the space between them. 

In those moments, he seems...oddly happy. Not the normal kind, where his eyes squeeze shut and his smile is careful. It's something about the tilt of his head, his eyes. It's like when he'd be staring out the windows reading signs, back in America, or, just sometimes, when he's looking over Ikuya's shoulder at the stats on his computer. 

Or, possibly, when he reads. Ikuya hasn't caught him reading often, but it reminds him of this expression, here and now. 

"Hiyori knows English?" Asahi asks, nudging Ikuya's side. 

"Ikuya and Hiyori met while they were abroad," Makoto points out. "Ikuya knows plenty too, I'm sure." 

"Hiyori is better at it," Ikuya murmurs, still watching, and it's visibly true. 

Between the two of them, their English wasn't always the best. Ikuya got by, but he hid behind his brother when he could, tried to act like he was above having conversations, but the truth was that he missed a lot of what was going on around him. He'd actually come to admire Haru even more, in a way, after moving to America; he had a way of cutting to the heart of a matter and keeping things simple that made Ikuya's life infinitely simpler when he tried to emulate it. 

But Hiyori hadn't handled it quite like that. He bumbled through things a lot more than Ikuya did, was willing to play the clown as he tried to figure out what was going on around him. He'd also jumped in a great deal to have conversations for him when the two of them had started spending more time together. 

Come to think of it, that had mostly become a thing after the hospital. Before, he'd hissed explanations in Ikuya's ear, distracting him more often than not, and sometimes Ikuya had gone so far as to brush him off, struggling through on his own. But after...

After, Hiyori had gotten in the habit of jumping in—with his English that was less accented and more natural, with his ears that picked up more and his keen attention that soaked up hints from the situation around him and turned them into smooth communication. 

He'd kept up with it after they'd returned to Japan, too. Ikuya had, on some level, not even seen it as strange; when the world went distant and he couldn't bother to figure things out anymore, he'd fall silent and Hiyori would fill the gap. It was simply how they worked. 

It's strange, watching him do something similar for other people.

"He looks like he's having a good time," Makoto says, but when Ikuya glances up at him, Makoto's staring at him instead. 

He looks back over at Hiyori, pensive. "He does."

"Does he talk about them a lot?" 

"Not really." He's barely mentioned them at all—as an obligation, nothing more. 

"I wonder if he's friends with any of them," Kisumi muses. "You know, if we went over, we could introduce—"

"No." 

They're silent for too long, and when Ikuya glances back at them, their gazes are carefully neutral (Kisumi) and soft and a little sad (Makoto). "Okay," the latter says. "We don't have to." 

"It's..." Ikuya shakes his head. _It's not like that,_ he wants to say, but he doesn't even know what it is that they are thinking of him. He's got a feeling that they're wrong about it, but he doesn't know how to explain himself, either. 

The table across the room settles down, eventually, and someone at the head starts speaking. Their own table gets their food and they eat in silence, Asahi not being at all subtle about peeking. Once Haru is distracted by his food, he's distracted entirely, of course. Kisumi looks faintly amused, still, but isn't interfering. Makoto seems more interested in peeking in Ikuya's direction when he thinks Ikuya isn't looking than watching the people they're theoretically here to be spying on. 

Ikuya is strategically placed to keep an eye on the table, so he's the one that notices one person standing up at a time, saying something—reading, it looks like; most of them are on their phones, some have books—and then sitting down again. Some sort of recitation? It looks almost like class. That would make sense for a book club, Ikuya supposes. 

"Got it!" Kisumi crows suddenly, and shoves his phone into Ikuya's face. "It's a poetry reading. I have no idea why this group doesn't have a LINE, but there's a picture of a poster in one of my group chats! Look!!" 

Ikuya frowns, takes Kisumi's phone, and reads it over. It's the correct time and place, though the blur on the sign makes it a bit difficult to make out; the poster's in both Japanese and English, which is helpful. 

It is, in fact, a poetry reading, but there's a twist to it. 

Haruka speaks just over Ikuya's shoulder, making him jump. "'Second Language Poetry Reading.'" 

"Yep!" Kisumi says. "That's pretty impressive, right? Intercultural exchange!" 

"That sounds really difficult," Makoto observes from Haru's other side, but he sounds impressed, too. 

"People are doing this for fun?" Asahi says, incredulous. 

Ikuya privately agrees with him, but he doesn't say anything about how much of a pain it seems like it'd be. Haru's been to Australia, so maybe he'd get it, but for Ikuya, who's been abroad for years at a time, trying to do things in a non-native language has lost a lot of the novelty it might once have had. By this point he sees complex tasks carried out in English mainly as exercises in insufficiency. 

It gets worse when the first reader comes up. They're foreign, and they've elected to read a _haiku_ , which at least means it's over quickly. It's mostly audible from across the room because the rest of the group falls silent, and they applaud when the speaker's done, but...

"Intercultural exchange," Kisumi repeats, sagely. 

"Seriously? Talk about secondhand embarrassment." Asahi snarks back. He turns away as the next person comes up to the front of the table, poem in hand. "Quick, let's talk about something else. I don't really need to hear this." 

Agreeing with him too much in one day is going to give Ikuya indigestion, but he turns to face Asahi anyway. He doesn't particularly want to see this either. 

_Is this really fun for him?_

That's the only thing that brings him back to the table, over and over. Makoto glances over like he feels he needs to keep an eye on the thing; Haru readily turns what attention he's willing to spare to their conversation. Kisumi bounces back and forth as well; he and Makoto are paying more attention than Ikuya is. 

He kind of wants to ask them what they're seeing of Hiyori's reactions, since that's all he's glancing over for. 

It's hard to read across the room, but he thinks he sees little winces—signs that Hiyori privately thinks some of the poetry readings are as awkward as Ikuya does. He's riding right along with the atmosphere, though—helping foreigners with their Japanese pronunciation and accepting their enthusiastic thanks, acting as a go-between when one of the Japanese students has a question. 

The night goes on. They finish their food at the table an order another round of drinks. (Kisumi insists, though most of them can't have anything interesting. Athletes's meal plans are no joke even in college, and several of them are underage, besides. ...Hiyori, Ikuya notices, has a beer in front of him that he sips at slowly and methodically over the course of the evening, and a second is eventually placed in front of him.) 

Eventually the guy who'd talked with Kisumi before pokes Hiyori and turns him away from the other conversations at the table. Ikuya notices that it's different from the other conversations Hiyori's had, because he shrinks away from the group like it's a private conversation, using the hunch of his broad shoulders as a semicircular wall to keep out other voices. 

Ikuya recognizes the gesture immediately, because of the countless times Hiyori has done it for him. 

This time, though...Hiyori looks strained. Kisumi's friend wags a finger in Hiyori's face and thrusts a thick, well-worn book in his direction. Tiny, colorful bookmarks are sticking out of the sides at every angle. 

The two of them haggle back and forth for a little while, but eventually Hiyori pulls out his phone and turns away, tapping at it. Ikuya expects the foreign student to take the hint and go, but he stays, watching. 

Hiyori's face as he reads his phone is difficult to read, even though it's lit better than it could have been by the light from his phone. He turns it to show the student. They nod and sit back, looking mollified, and then leave Hiyori alone. 

Ikuya wonders what they talked about, even when he's drawn back into Asahi and Haru's argument about pre-season training regimens. He almost misses the moment, some minutes later, when Hiyori looks up, nods at the people around him, and goes to stand at the front of the table. 

Ikuya straightens, nudges Asahi none too gently. 

"What?" Asahi snaps, and then makes a disgusted face with his whole body when Ikuya points at the stage. "Are you _still_ watching—"

"Oh, it's Hiyori-kun's turn," Makoto says, apparently not noticing that he's speaking over Asahi, who falls silent in surprise. He leans toward the table and watches, perching his chin on one broad hand.

Haru turns to watch, too, silently. Ikuya wonders vaguely if Kisumi is curious as well, but by this point Hiyori has begun speaking. 

It's in English and across a crowded room, so the details aren't clear at all; if he strains, Ikuya can just get a sense of pitch, some hints of Hiyori's tone. His gaze doesn't stay glued to his phone, but sometimes wanders up and down the table, like he knows what he's reading reasonably well. He has had some time to prepare, after all. 

The poem isn't long. It feels like it, though, because Ikuya gets lost in Hiyori's expressions. The poem he's reading is sad, Ikuya realizes. He knows because of the way Hiyori's shoulders hunch in, just barely, so he has to straighten himself up from the back to keep his head up enough to address the small crowd. It's sad because even across the room, in low light, with glasses, his eyes seem to Ikuya to be shining more than usual. It's sad because of the _smile_ Hiyori is wearing, one that's knowing and accepting; not bitter, because Hiyori doesn't _do_ bitter, it's Ikuya's go-to, but...resigned. That's it. He seems resigned, and there's a sad twist to his mouth by the end, like the smile won't hold up. 

The silence at the table is audible from across the room, and then there's a few cheers and clapping. The foreign student from before stands up next to Hiyori and gestures him grandly back to his seat, putting an arm around him while he does. 

Ikuya feels something in him flash hot with dislike when Hiyori hunches under the stranger's arm. His smile is polite, but his eyes are still sparkling. 

The next moment is even more surprising, though, as all emotion wipes off his face to be replaced by shock. As soon as he sits down, three different people lean towards him, all talking excitedly. 

Ikuya wonders what they're talking about. Hiyori's memorization skills? His good English in general? Maybe something about the reading? 

Even though it was sad, he kind of almost wants to have heard it. Though maybe not where Hiyori could see him watching. 

From blank surprise, a different smile makes its way onto Hiyori's face—small, shy. He talks quietly at first, then with more animation, then shows the students something on his phone and subsides as they all start to chatter with each other excitedly. He interjects, probably to translate something, and they all laugh. 

The next reading starts soon after that, and there aren't many more after, but Ikuya keeps his eyes on Hiyori the whole time. At some point Asahi's looked away and started chatting again, this time with Makoto, but Ikuya doesn't pay attention, and no one bothers him. 

It's then that Kisumi turns his head as the door opens and jumps. "Shit," he says, uncharacteristically unfriendly, and Ikuya remembers the other reason he'd convinced the others to come out here. 

"What?" Makoto asks, instantly nervous. "Is he here?" 

"Yep." Kisumi's already getting up. "I'm gonna cut him off. Don't follow me, Ikuya." 

Ikuya glares after him, but Kisumi's already left, winding between tables with great purpose and getting to Kisumi before he can get too close to the big table and engaging him in conversation. Kisumi doesn't look too happy to be interrupted, and Ikuya glances over at the table. Hiyori, still deep in conversation, doesn't seem to have noticed, but the person Kisumi was talking to before doesn't seem to have noticed, either. 

Makoto's looks between the same spots that Ikuya is, then leans across the table to confer with him. "Should we get Kisumi's friend's attention, you think?" he asks, looking worried, and then he glances back at Kinjo and his eyes go wide. "Oh no." 

Ikuya follows his gaze, and realizes that Kisumi has drawn Kinjo's attention to their table. He sits forward in spite of himself, glaring. _Come on, get over here. I dare you._

Part of him wonders what he's thinking—play fights with Natsuya aside, he isn't much of fighter—but before Kinjo can do much more to react, Kisumi's friend notices what's going on. 

He marches over—it isn't till he's close to both Kisumi and Kinjo that Ikuya realizes they've both got a head on them in height—and leads them both out of the bar, the door shutting quietly behind him. 

Ikuya blinks at the door, nonplussed, and turns to Makoto. "How did he do that?" he asks. 

Makoto blinks. "No idea." 

Whatever it is, it seems to have worked, and to keep working, because only two of them return, with no sign of Kinjo. Ikuya steals a glance at Hiyori, but he seems not to have noticed anything. 

Kisumi chats with his friend for a moment, smiling and waving him off before making a beeline back to their table. 

"Ohhh my god," he says, slumping down next to Makoto and resting his head on the table. "I thought I was gonna die." 

"What happened?" Makoto asks. 

"Sam made Kinjo go away." Kisumi shakes his head, still on the table. "He was _not_ happy about it, but he did go. Oh geez, I never want to do that again." 

"...Thanks," Ikuya says. It's all he can really think to say. 

Honestly, coming here had been mostly for the sake of his curiosity, with a dash of spite at Kinjo thrown in. It feels kind of nice to know that because he'd dragged Kisumi into this, Hiyori's going to have a better time. 

It does make him feel guilty for his other motives, but even that doesn't erase the curiosity.

What had Hiyori read, that had made him look so quietly forlorn even through a smile? How had the others reacted to seeing that side of him? It bothers Ikuya how much he wants to know. 

But the moment has long since passed. A few more people come up to do readings, and Hiyori watches them with a blank look that Ikuya knows from experience means he's listening only halfheartedly, if at all; Ikuya doesn't think he noticed Kinjo, but he's dropped out of the conversations around him, and the rest of the group is allowing it with good grace. 

Still, it takes Ikuya a while to give up and return his attention to his own table. When he does, the others are watching him. 

Makoto is obvious about it, gentle and kind. Asahi glances away so quickly that if it'd only been him, Ikuya would've thought he'd imagined it. Haru is looking down at the table now, which is odd in itself because he doesn't usually hide his staring. 

Kisumi makes a sound like he's trying to whistle, and looks up at the ceiling. 

Ikuya levels his glare at Makoto, arguably the easiest target. "What?" he asks. 

Makoto spreads his hands in a placating gesture. "Nothing, really," he says, not as nervous as he once would have; perhaps he's getting comfortable with the idea there's no way the five of them _won't_ be all up in each other's business most, if not all, of the time. "It's just...well, have you considered going to say hello?" 

Ikuya sighs and puts his chin in one hand. "It's not like I haven't." 

"Then why don't you?" 

And that would be Haru. 

Ikuya wonders how he could explain it to Haru, of all people, when Haru's the sort of person who tended to act immediately once an idea of what to do finally enters his head. 

But no, that isn't fair. Haruka has to think more than he looks like he does from the outside. Which means if he's telling Ikuya to go over there, maybe he actually thinks it's a good idea. 

That's...unexpected. 

"What would I say?" Ikuya says, trying to give the notion a chance. "'I saw your poetry reading, and I wanted to know what you were saying?' It's in English anyway. And besides, this is something Hiyori decided to do on his own." 

There's a spark of genuine curiosity in Haru's eyes. "Do you think he doesn't want you to know?" 

"He _is_ a pretty private person," Asahi points out. "Look at how he is with the rest of us. And how he's been lately." 

"That's true," Makoto says. "He's not shut off, exactly, but he's a little quiet." 

Because they're taking this seriously—even Asahi, who never really got over hating Hiyori's guts—Ikuya considers it. "Exactly. Even if I ask, it's not like he'll tell me." 

"Really?" Kisumi says suddenly, looking down from the ceiling. His words are mild, but his gaze is straight-on. "I can't imagine him saying no to you." 

"He...doesn't, usually," Ikuya allows, because it's true. Hiyori kind of hates saying no to anyone. He'll run circles around them first. "He can, but mostly he deflects. He's very good at changing the subject." 

"I don't think there'd be harm in trying to ask, though," Makoto says. "Not that you have to, of course. I'm pretty sure he doesn't even know we're here." 

"Speaking of, maybe we should get going before the event ends," Kisumi says lightly. "If you really don't want to explain yourself, that is, Ikuya." 

Kisumi gestures over to the table, and indeed, about half the people there are putting on their coats. Hiyori is rummaging quietly around in his bag, and Ikuya shrinks down a bit in anticipation. It's all too possible that Hiyori could catch them at a time like this, and...oddly, he doesn't want him to. If Hiyori's going to find out Ikuya followed him, Ikuya would rather it be because he told Hiyori himself. 

The matter is suddenly, neatly taken out of his hands, however. 

One of the members—Ikuya recognizes Sam, after a moment—comes over with two glasses filled with colorful liquid, and plunks one down at Hiyori's place. 

Hiyori freezes, looks up between the drink and Sam, and then slowly, shyly, smiles. 

Something in Ikuya's heart _twists_. 

"Oh," says Kisumi, brows raised and lips slightly pursed in an expression that's difficult to read. "Interesting." 

It's that more than anything that decides Ikuya. 

"Yeah, okay," he mutters, and stands up, swinging on his coat and reaching for his bag. "Show's over, guys. Time to go." 

"Huh?" Makoto looks over, surprised. 

"We found out what Hiyori was up to," Ikuya says. He keeps his back resolutely to the scene that had been unfolding behind him, and slings his bag over his shoulder. "Mystery solved. It's getting late. Let's go." 

Makoto frowns. "Are you sure you're okay with—"

"Yes. It's fine. Hiyori gets to live his own life," Ikuya says, a bit more forcefully than he means to. "Come on, if he spots us now it'd just be creepy." 

"That's..." Makoto starts, looking lost, but Ikuya is already on his way out. 

He doesn't look back. If Hiyori wants to stay out late drinking things that are far too sugary to be included in his diet regimen, with people that Ikuya doesn't know, that is his _right_ , and if Ikuya doesn't want to see it, then he can leave. And he doesn't want to. 

Hiyori doesn't need to know how to be a conscientious team member. He already knows. 

Ikuya's the last person who's earned any right to talk to him about putting in effort. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will stand by my headcanon that Hiyori is not actually an introvert, but instead a very lonely and insecure extrovert. I think that Kisumi, being one of the few suuuper extroverted characters in the main cast (along with Nagisa, for example), recognized this and took pity on him. 
> 
> If you're wondering what poem Hiyori read, I'll have a link to it next week. ;) (I haven't given enough hints for what it is, but I'd be interested in guesses, if anyone has them! It really is obscure, though.) 
> 
> I hope you're all staying reasonably safe and healthy! This fic deals a lot with loneliness and feeling blocked off from others, which is something I've struggled with for a long time, but it's also something that a lot of us are dealing with now more than ever. We're more aware of it than ever too, though, and in some ways that's an opportunity. 
> 
> Related: Ao3 doesn't have a messaging function, of course, but I've got a writing blog on Tumblr under this username and my Twitter handle is @turtlemudge. I'm also playing with the idea of starting a Discord server to just talk about daily life stuff in, but I haven't decided on that yet one way or another. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	11. Confluence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hiyori has a night out.
> 
> ETA: forgot that this chapter probably needs a content warning for very light emeto/vomiting reference, sorry about that! (Nothing graphic or even onscreen, but a few passing references.) Also, this was already referenced last chapter (oops), but alcohol consumption.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've actually had most of this chapter written for quite a while, so a relatively on-time update!

When Sam sets the drink down, Hiyori can't help it—he stares. 

He'd thought the event was over, for one thing. He's used up more energy than he honestly thought he had, and something in him goes blank and buzzing in pure shock at the thought that there might be _more._

Then there's first two drinks he's had, sloshing around on an empty stomach because a voice in the back of his head sounding suspiciously like Ikuya had started counting calories. The room's lights are too bright, and Hiyori's hearing sounds a little bit like it does underwater. 

But he's thirsty and hungry, and the house special—that's probably what it is, there'd been a model near the bar—also sounds like exactly the kind of distraction that might get him through whatever conversation this is about to be. Besides, Sam is tiny, and exactly the sort of smart-ass who'd insist on drinking these both himself if Hiyori turns his down. He couldn't stand to have that on his conscience. 

"If it's a no," Sam says eventually, pouting, "you could actually try saying so. With your mouth." 

Hiyori jumps a bit, then smiles awkwardly and pulls the drink towards him. "No, I, uh. I was surprised. Sorry." 

Sam tilts his head a little, frowning. "Was this too much? I really just wanted to talk to you." 

"No, it's...it's fine." Hiyori leans forward and takes a sip. The first one burns against his tongue, and he fights back a wince as he swallows. Thankfully the next one goes down smoother; he's able to appreciate the sweetness. "It's good." 

"Right? They're so unnecessarily fancy, but I can't get enough of them for some reason." Sam settles in, one ankle crossed over his knee, turned on the bench to face Hiyori. "So. How was tonight? I know you said you don't get out much. Oh, is English okay?"

Hiyori's tired enough that he'd only been half-aware that they were speaking English now. Sam's Japanese isn't great, but he gets his point across with gusto, and Hiyori has a habit of losing track of what language he's actually using when he focuses too hard. "English is fine." 

"Okay. Don't let me talk too much." Sam takes a sip of his drink and then, unmistakably, giggles. "Not that you can do anything about that. I doubt anybody can." 

Hiyori smiles in spite of himself. Sam's has an understated, cheerful way of criticizing himself that sounds a bit like the inside of Hiyori's own head sometimes. It should be depressing to listen to, but somehow it's refreshing instead. Maybe it's because he says it like he only half-believes it, rather than taking it seriously. 

"I'll ask for the definitions if I get lost," he promises instead. 

"You should give yourself a little more credit," Sam says. "Your English is great. That was a really cool poem you chose today, and you read it well." 

"Thank you," Hiyori says again. He's noticed that around Sam, he ends up saying "thank you" a lot, and it makes him self-conscious. 

"You're welcome," Sam says. "But you knew it already—the poem, I mean. You didn't find it in the book we were using." He leans forward, takes a sip of his own drink. "How'd you find it?" 

"Last year of middle school, when I was studying abroad." Hiyori focuses on his drink, trying to stay casual; there's no need for Sam to know awkward it feels to be talking about this, because after all, it's just a poem from a long time ago. "One of the teachers at my school used to be a high school teacher, and she was really into modern poetry. She had this giant print-out that she gave to everyone at the end of the year." He smiles faintly. "I probably still have that somewhere." 

"And that one stuck with you?" Sam raises an eyebrow. 

Hiyori feels his face heat up. "Yeah," he says and shrugs. "I mean, I still don't think I understand it completely, but...poems are like that sometimes, right?" He takes another, deep sip of the drink. It feels like he's being sucked down into it, rather than the other way around. The sensation is easier to focus on than wherever this conversation is going. 

"Pretty intense feelings in there," Sam says. "I can see why you'd remember it." 

"Mm," he agrees. 

"...Look, I'm just going to come right out and say it. Who is it you have a crush on, exactly?"

Hiyori chokes, barely avoids spattering the countertop, and swallows. "What?" he says. 

He probably looks like an idiot. His mouth is slightly numb from cold and tingling with alcohol, his eyes are slow to focus on Sam's face, and he feels like all of him has broken out into a sweat all at once. 

"That poem," Sam says matter-of-factly, "had a _lot_ of gay pining crammed in there. But you've never mentioned anything like that before. So..." He spreads one hand towards the drinks on the table. "I was wondering if you wanted to talk about it." He leans forward, blinking, the picture of innocence. " _Are_ you gay?" 

"I..." Hiyori takes a deep breath. His heart is pounding and he feels like it's taken on a life of its own; it's stampeding in his chest, it's an avalanche that's trying to push him towards the nearest door. 

He does not have words for this. He has not even imagined having this conversation with anyone, except maybe for dodging insults and accusations. And yet...hearing the words out of Sam's mouth are a kind of sick relief. 

"...I don't know," he struggles out, finally. "I...might be." 

Sam's expression, or what Hiyori can make out of it through vision that's darkening at the corners, has taken on a concerned look. "Well damn, I didn't mean for it to be such a hard question," he says. "We don't have to go all big-picture if you don't want to. Just...is there someone you want to talk about?" 

"Why are you asking?" Hiyori asks. He swallows, hard, but his throat is dry and slightly painful. He reaches for his drink again, uncoordinated, and sucks more of it down as Sam answers. 

"I...honestly I was just wondering if you wanted someone to talk to," Sam says, and then backpedals. How he can talk so fast with his straw in his mouth, Hiyori can't comprehend, but at least the words themselves are still comprehensible. "Okay, and, uh, I was thinking of maybe asking you if you wanted in on the bilingual GSA-type thing that me and a few students are thinking of starting." 

"GSA?" Hiyori asks. 

"Gay-Straight Alliance," Sam explains. "It's a kind of club that they have at some American high schools. We've got all these laws against good sex ed, and that includes information about LGBT stuff—it's a place for students to learn more. Whether or not they're actually gay, or queer, or whatever. There's...something like it here already," he adds, looking ashamed, "but there's a bit of a language barrier. And...uh, not to put too fine a point on it, but a lot of us are too 'out.' I don't think the current club would like us all that much unless we were on our best behavior, and the sort of thing we had in mind would be...not that." 

"What would it be, then?" Hiyori asks, more because he can't think of anything else to say than for any other reason. 

"Something more like this," Sam says softly. "Just...being together, talking things through. Reading really gay poetry and getting drunk sometimes." 

"...I wasn't," Hiyori starts, and then stops, and looks down at the table, and sighs. 

"You're not out, are you," Sam says softly. "I shouldn't have started this conversation with you. I'm sorry." 

Hiyori breathes long and slow and keeps staring at the table. It's warping in his vision, but not because he's about to start crying; it's just the alcohol working on him, he reassures himself. "I...don't know what to say to you right now," he admits.

The second the words leave his lips, it feels like a breakthrough. He looks up and Sam looks...sad, he thinks, but he isn't sure. He's not sure of anything anymore, but having said that the weight of it feels lighter than it ever has. 

"Whatever you want to say," Sam says, "I'll listen. But you don't have to say anything, if you don't want to." 

Hiyori muses on this. His drink is almost empty. He considers ordering another, decides he's pretty sure he wouldn't be able to handle it. "You said the groups here are different," he says. "I...I think I know what you mean." 

"Yeah?" Sam nudges his straw around in his cup. 

"Being gay here is...different, too," Hiyori says. "I was only in the States during middle school, but I figured out that much." 

Sam nods. He's being remarkably patient for someone with so much energy, waiting for Hiyori to piece together his point. It's kind of him, but it also means that Hiyori's going to have to end up somewhere with what he's saying. 

"I'm not...out," he manages. "I don't really want to talk about that with anyone. But this group..." He pauses, plays with his thumb with one hand. "This group is mostly people that would be in your new club, isn't it." 

"Yeah," Sam says. 

That's what he'd thought. And the thing was...he _likes_ these people. Even though he'd only just met them, they're comfortable to be around. He hadn't thought that such a thing was possible. 

"Does Kisumi know?" Hiyori asks. 

"Ah," Sam says, clearly remembering that Hiyori was made very aware of his miscommunication with Kisumi before. "...You know, I'm honestly not sure? But it's not like we've been trying to hide it, either." 

"I wonder what he'd think," Hiyori says, and lays his head down on his arm. 

He doesn't realize this is a move to worry over until Sam scoots closer to him. "Hey, uh, you okay?" 

"Fine," he answers, because he is. The room has started a lazy spin around him, stuttering and slow like it's the one who's drunk, not him. Inside his head, though, his thoughts are reasonably lucid. He has enough energy to focus on one thing at a time, at least. 

"If he tells...the other people that know me," Hiyori says, distinct as he can with one corner of his mouth squished against his wrist, "it could be...a development." 

"A good development, or a bad one?" Sam asks. He's stayed close, brought his drink with him. His voice is neutral, but sympathetic. 

"I...don't know," Hiyori admits. "Probably bad. Possibly." 

He glances up at Sam. He isn't so bad, he thinks. The part of him that shrinks away from other people doesn't do that so much with Sam, even when his voice is at its loudest. It didn't do it with a lot of the other people tonight, either. 

It is possible that he's stumbled into a group of people who aren't so different from him. 

"I might..." No, that's not right. Hm. "It might not be so bad, if I can still hang out with you guys if everything goes to hell," he mumbles eventually. 

Sam looks truly sad now. "You don't have to do anything you're not ready for," he says. "But you're welcome to spend time with us, either way. This group will hopefully be around for a little while, if we can get it going. There's going to be gay study-abroad students for pretty much ever; I'm here for a year at least, maybe longer if things pan out. But you shouldn't have to burn bridges with your friends now just to come hang out with us." He raises a hand like he's going to touch Hiyori, maybe, but then just uses it to brace himself on the bench. "I'm sorry I put you in an uncomfortable position." 

"If you keep apologizing for things that aren't your fault, you're going to do fine in Japan no matter how long you stay," Hiyori tells him, only half joking. "But you didn't put me in a bad position. You just gave me more options." 

"I didn't have to do it like this, though," Sam sighs. "Like, right now. It just...seemed like an easy time to talk to you. For me, I mean." 

"You like this kind of thing?" Hiyori asks, gesturing loosely at the bar. He's never been good at picking up signals, unless it's someone with whom he's had years of practice. The conversational opening Sam's given him feels like a blessing. 

"Kind of," Sam admits. "I'm not super used to it, actually. It just...helped a bit with courage." 

And then he shoots Hiyori a loaded glance, and Hiyori realizes something. 

It takes him a second to admit it, to believe it isn't just his eyes playing tricks on him, but...he knows that look. He's _done_ that look, though it seems to come more naturally to Sam than it does to him—overlarge eyes peeping out from between tufts of light-brown hair. 

He wouldn't have recognized it in himself, but on someone else it seems quite likely that it's a _flirting_ glance. That Sam is flirting with him. 

Hiyori's heart drops into his stomach and sloshes around with the alcohol. The spinning in the room picks up with his heartbeat, and he's now feeling well and truly nauseous. 

"Thank you for...talking to me," Hiyori says, the words feeling numb in his mouth. "And I'll...definitely think about it." He swallows, realizing halfway through that he's almost swallowing back bile. For the first time, he looks ahead and has a premonition of a grim night ahead of him. "You're right, though. There is someone I like. And...I'm not really over it yet."

"I understand," Sam says, and the next second Hiyori wonders whether he imagined the loaded glance in the first place, because Sam's looking at him head-on and his smile is kind, and a little wry. It's another face Hiyori can feel in the muscles of his own, when he looks at him. "Whether it's me or the rest of the group, we're here to talk to, okay? A lot of us are going through similar things." 

"Are you?" Hiyori asks, and then curses himself. Showing interest right now was not the best idea. 

Sam laughs once, surprisingly sharp. "I'm between 'things' at the moment," he admits. "Though if you ever feel like a new thing yourself, feel free to drop me a line." 

Hiyori stares. He'd thought Sam was going to leave the matter well enough alone, but he's just blurted out a confession—or something like it—in the most casual way possible. 

"Don't look at me like that," Sam mumbles, but he's fighting a grin. "I _know_ I get that I don't have a shot right now. But you're cute. Not at least acknowledging that feels dishonest." He gives himself a little shake and straightens. "Don't worry, though—I get that you're not interested, so this is me giving up. And my other offer still stands." 

Sam's a lot to keep up with, but guilt isn't churning Hiyori's stomach quite as bad as it was a moment ago. Still, he's feeling the need for a bit of distance—not urgently, but soon. "All right," he says. "I'll think about it. Send me the details?" 

"Sure thing," Sam says, easily. "Are you going to head out? It's getting pretty late. The buses will only be running for like half an hour." 

It's closer to 45 minutes—Hiyori's keeping an eye on it. "It'll be fine," he says, and pushes out the bench to stand. 

He has to brace himself against the table as the world temporarily blurs into a swirl of color. He can't find his footing, and it takes a surprising amount of effort not to plunk right back to the table. 

He pushes through it, steps away. "I'm gonna visit the restroom before I leave," he says, trying to keep his tone light. "You don't have to wait up." 

"I will, though," Sam says, after Hiyori turns. 

Hiyori focuses on putting his feet in a straight line as he walks to the back of the bar. It's hard. He gets the feeling he's not doing particularly well. 

* * *

A few notably unpleasant minutes later, he's walking out of the bathroom with a flushed face, a slightly clearer head, and the taste of alcohol back on his tongue. 

Sam accosts him near the entrance, a glass of water in his hands. "You doing okay?" he asks. He looks contrite now, though his flushed face and sparkling eyes tell Hiyori he must be almost as intoxicated as Hiyori is. Maybe some people just have more resistance to that sort of thing; maybe it's a matter of experience. 

"Yeah," Hiyori says, and takes the water with good grace. He's holding it steady, which says more for his balance than he would have expected; his sense of it is almost entirely off, but he can stay steady if he's looking at the water line. 

He drains it till it's gone, and as he tilts his head back to normal Hiyori realizes he's lost his moorings and the world is floating around him like an ocean. 

Sam says something, but Hiyori doesn't catch it. He stumbles back and braces himself against the wall, feeling his heart pound just out of time with the throbbing in his head. The glass disappears from his hand, and he looks for it blearily, only to see Sam weaving his way toward the bar with it. He closes his eyes and lets himself drift for the space of a few breaths. 

Sam's hand lands on his shoulder. It's small. Hiyori blinks over at him, struggles to get his eyes to focus. Sam's face is too close, his voice too loud. 

"Is there someone that I can call?" Sam is asking, and Hiyori blinks at him, considering. 

"...Why?" he asks finally. 

"Because I'm not sure you can get home by—you know what, fine," Sam says. "You go to Shimogami, right?" 

Hiyori nods, and lets Sam tug him back to their table. He manages to find his way into his coat alright, tying his scarf messily. Outside it's biting cold, and he fumbles for his gloves before giving up, deciding that's a great way to lose them. He sticks his hands under his arms and shivers while Sam dances with remarkable coordination to the edge of the sidewalk, one hand up for a taxi. 

Hiyori never got the hang of calling them, so he's impressed when one comes over almost immediately and the door swings open for him. 

He settles in the chair and breathes a sigh of relief; staying upright now is exhausting. The door shuts and he rests his cheek on the window ledge, his forehead pressing up against cold glass. 

A finger's jabbing into the meat of his arm, asking him a question he barely understands. He sits up far enough to mumble out his dorm building, but his eyes aren't even really open. He slumps back the second he gets a moment's peace, but all too soon he's getting poked again. Sam's voice says something in warning before the door opens and almost spills him out onto the pavement. 

Hiyori manages to get his seatbelt off, and accepts the help as he's hauled back upright. His head is pounding now, and even though he knows there's nothing in his stomach for it to complain about, it's grumbling unhappily. He can feel the sensation of a guilt not yet felt or logically reasoned out, but imminent, and it's centered on the small body that's slung one of his arms over its shoulder and is tugging him towards the dorms. 

He follows Sam obediently, trying not to lean on him too hard and spending the walk up to his dorm searching his pockets for his key. He finds it, hands it to Sam to insert in the door, and squints down at his watch. 

"When did it get this late?" he asks inanely. 

"Probably while you were sleeping," Sam says, matter-of-fact, and pushes the door open. "Come on, let's get you inside." 

Hiyori hangs his head and follows. 

He half expects Sam to leave at any of the following moments, but that isn't what happens. What happens instead: Sam shepherds him into the bathroom to take a shower, knocks on the door every few minutes to make sure he's still awake, has the bed set up with a towel on the pillow and the trash can to one side, and gives Hiyori more water and a snack he's scared up from who-knows-where. Hiyori manages to pull himself together enough to offer Sam tea. Sam all but laughs in his face. 

"Go to _sleep,_ " he says instead. "You're exhausted." 

"No, I'm drunk," Hiyori says, standing lopsidedly in his own hallway and feeling oddly embarrassed. "It'll wear off." 

Sam shakes his head. "You're exhausted. I've spent a lot of time around drunk people, okay? This wouldn't have hit you so hard if you weren't going through some shit on your own. You need some timeto rest and recover." 

"I..." Hiyori steps back. Actually physically steps back, because it's what his brain is doing and he's lost just about any filter he might've had. He takes a deep breath, considering it. Sam's words are a little hard to swallow, but he manages. 

"You should stay," he says, finally. 

Sam tilts his head at him, confused, faintly birdlike. "What?" 

"It's late. You've been drinking too," Hiyori says. "You should stay the night. I'd feel better about it." 

"It's not _that_ late," Sam protests. He looks...actually flustered, for one of the first times this evening.

"It's late enough that you'll probably have trouble getting home on a bus," Hiyori argues. "You've already paid for one taxi—I'm too tired to figure out what I owe you anyway. Unless you've got somewhere you need to be first thing in the morning?" 

"Nah," Sam says, shrugging. "I guess I don't, but. Hm." 

"Please?" Hiyori says. "I've got a couch, or I know you've gotten it ready, but you can still take the—"

"If I'm staying, I'll take the couch," Sam almost squeaks, and Hiyori is almost too surprised to stop his laugh. Almost. "I've slept on worse," he continues, trying to smooth over the moment of embarrassment. 

"Okay," Hiyori says simply. He's too tired to do the full song-and-dance of hospitality, so he knows he's doing a crappy job as he scares up a throw pillow and blanket and tosses them onto the couch. Sam, too, though, seems more preoccupied with getting him into bed than getting his own needs met. 

Hiyori tugs up the covers of his bed and rolls into them, the fabric of the towel rubbing oddly rough against his face. He looks up, and Sam's already near the light switch. Hiyori hadn't even thought of that. 

"Good night," he calls. "Tell me if you need anything." 

"Night," Sam answers, and Hiyori really should wait for an answer to that second part, but he turns over and he's gone. 

* * *

Hiyori awakens to the sound of an alarm that isn't his. 

He rolls over and immediately regrets it, forgetting the question of where the odd electronic jingle he's hearing is coming from. Instead, he curls in on himself, breathing through the tidal wave of discomfort that his body is suddenly making him aware of. 

"Sorry," says a quiet voice from across the room. Hiyori blinks, squints, glances around the room to see what's going on, as bits and pieces of the last night start to come back to him, at their own pace. 

Sam's hair in the morning is not so much cute as it is humorous. What once might've been construed as a naturally tousled look, Hiyori is now sure uses at least one kind of product, as the lopsided structure it's formed now doesn't look like it should be able to hold up under its own weight. He seems unaware of it for the moment, though; he's staring down at his phone. Hiyori fumbles around until he finds the place on his side table where his glasses ended up, and slips them on. The barrage of detail is less jarring than the light of the room, but not by much. At least he's not dizzy anymore, though the grogginess seems like it's going to be a bit harder to shake off. 

"Good morning," he rasps out. 

"Morning yourself," Sam says. "How are you feeling?" 

"Better," Hiyori says, because it's true. 

"Well, I'm glad to hear that, at least." Sam walks over, nudges the trash can by Hiyori's bed with his foot. "Glad you didn't need to use this, too. Anything I can get you? Water, coffee?" 

"This is my apartment," Hiyori says, rising. "I'll get _you_ coffee." 

"All right, all right," Sam says, laughing and stepping out of his way. "If you're up to it." 

"You've done enough for me already," Hiyori says, and means it. "Hang on." 

"I've got nowhere to be," Sam says. "Not for another couple of hours, anyway. How's your schedule? Okay?" 

"For now," Hiyori says. "Glad you set that alarm, though." 

"More like I forgot to turn it off," Sam says, and follows Hiyori into his kitchenette. Hiyori pulls out his kettle and starts the water, and then goes digging around for mugs. His is easy enough to find, but he goes looking for another one rather then give Sam Ikuya's usual one. 

"Coffee really okay?" he asks. "I've got tea, too." 

"Definitely coffee," Sam says fervently. 

Hiyori laughs. "Okay, then." 

They wait in companionable silence for the kettle to boil for a little bit, and then Hiyori remembers himself and goes to his small food stash and starts poking around, asking if Sam wants anything. 

"Oh, I don't usually eat in the mornings," Sam says, waving a hand. "I'm good with the coffee." 

Hiyori frowns at him. "You don't eat anything? Breakfast is important." 

"Yeah, but I don't," Sam says, waving a hand. "I'm not an athlete, but I've got my own lifestyle and stuff too. No worries." 

It's a tiny bit hard _not_ to worry about that, but the frank gaze Sam levels him helps some. Hiyori nods to himself and pulls out some toast. "Just let me know if you change your mind. I'd feel bad making you watch me eat otherwise." 

"Not a problem," Sam says, "and sure." 

The water finishes, and Hiyori pours them both coffee through the instant filters. Sam takes it to one side of his couch and sets it on the short table, and Hiyori follows a minute later with buttered toast. (He can worry about the rest of it later, if he wants to. He's well in excess of his meal plan already, though, from the night before, and besides the hangover hasn't left him particularly hungry.) 

Sam blows comically hard on his coffee for a few long moments, and then takes a long, ginger sip. He puts his head back and sighs, blissful. "Coffee is good." 

Hiyori chuckles. 

Sam opens one eye to look over at him. "Thanks," he says happily, and sips at it again. 

Hiyori sets his coffee aside to cool a little more and stands up, going over to his phone. "Don't get the wrong idea," he says as he goes to unplug it. (Did Sam plug it in last night? Or did Hiyori? He honestly doesn't remember.) "I'm not trying to kick you out. But what's your schedule like? Do you need to get going soon?" 

As he asks the question, he glances down. There are 5 unread texts from Ikuya. 

He schools his face so it's carefully blank, and goes over to the couch, forcing himself to open them. 

_Hey. How was the thing?_

_Did you get home all right?_

_Message me when you see this_

_ok nvm_

_I'm going to sleep. talk to u tomorrow_

They're not...completely terrible. But he looks up halfway through Sam's answer and realizes he's completely lost track of what he's saying. 

"So that's a no, then?" he guesses, from the half of the sentence he heard. 

"Yeah, more or less." Sam frowns over at him. "What about you? And are you feeling okay?" 

"Much better now," Hiyori reassures him. "My schedule's fine. Just some stuff I need to get together before class." 

As he says that, a suspicion floats to the top of his mind—he might've had another assignment he was supposed to turn in for his class today, one he'd intended to stay up late and polish. He'd completely forgotten with the chaos that yesterday evening had introduced into his life. 

He'll try to half-ass finishing it between classes today, and if it's terrible he'll give up and turn it in as-is, take the lower grade. As long as he stays on top of things from now on, there should be no more long-term consequences. 

If he keeps hanging out with people this often, though, finishing things on time is something he's going to have to be careful about. 

"That's good," Sam's said, and is sipping his coffee. 

Hiyori asks about the cab fare and pays Sam back, and after that a comfortable silence falls. Hiyori feels like maybe he should be a more attentive host, but honestly, Sam's presence now is reflective and easy. He seems content with his coffee and his presence in Hiyori's room. 

When Hiyori speaks next, he isn't sure whether he's speaking out of placation or genuine happiness, but he doesn't regret it either way. "So that thing you were talking about...the meetings you wanted or organize. Keep me informed, yeah?" 

Sam blinks at him, and then smiles, wide-eyed. "Sure," he says. "I won't get you that drunk again, either. Promise." 

Hiyori chuckles. "I definitely did at least half of that to myself." 

"Then I won't let you. Unless you reeeally want to, that is." Sam smirks.

Hiyori shakes his head, sheepish. "Once in a while should be enough." 

"I can get behind that mindset," Sam says sagely. "You seem like the sort of person who's a good influence on other people. Our group can definitely use a little extra mom energy." 

Hiyori makes a face at the unexpectedness of that, but isn't particularly offended. "If you say so." 

"I do. You have mom energy coming out the ass," Sam says, amiably. "I'm just the disaster aunt." 

Hiyori is going to have to get used to the way college students talk rather than middle schoolers, he thinks wryly, but Sam's easy enough to keep up with regardless. "Okay." 

"But I should really get going." Sam drains the last of his coffee and stands, glancing at his phone. "Hey, would you be willing to show me where the bus stop is? I've never been around this part of this campus." 

"Oh, of course." Hiyori crosses his dorm and pulls on some socks, then leads Sam out of his dorm. "When's the bus you need to take?" 

"About ten minutes. Is that enough time?" 

"Plenty." Hiyori opens the door and steps out into the hallway, holding it awkwardly open behind him before Sam grabs it. 

When he glances down the hall, Ikuya is standing and staring at him. 

Hiyori doesn't comprehend what he's seeing at first. By the time he does, Sam has come out behind him and shut the door, and has turned to Hiyori, presumably to see if he's going to lock it. 

Ikuya closes in quickly, moving into conversational distance for fairly early in the morning. "Hiyori." 

"Ikuya," Hiyori says, pushing through his shock and landing somewhere that sounds vaguely pleasant. "Good morning." 

"Good morning," Sam says cheerfully, in Japanese. 

"Morning," Ikuya returns shortly. He fixes Hiyori with a glance. "Friend of yours?"

Hiyori nods. "He helped me get home last night." Oh, right. His heart drops, and he struggles to keep his voice upbeat. "I only saw your messages this morning. Sorry I didn't answer." 

"It's fine." It doesn't sound particularly fine, but it doesn't sound _not_ fine either. Hiyori can't get a read on how Ikuya feels about it, but he doesn't intend to let it slide regardless. "Looks like you have somewhere to be. I'm going to get breakfast before class." 

"Sure," Hiyori says, still on the defensive. Ikuya turns and heads back down the hallway without any more words of farewell. 

He gives himself the space of half a dozen of Ikuya's steps before he turns back to Sam. "We should get going, too." 

He catches Sam looking from down the hallway after Ikuya back to Hiyori, a somewhat preoccupied look on his face. "Yeah," Sam says. "Yeah, we should. Was that okay?" 

Hiyori shrugs, leads the way to the stairwell on the opposite end of the hall. "Probably," he says. 

"Probably?" 

"He did message me last night, but I didn't see it," Hiyori says. "I...don't remember how much he knows about yesterday. I definitely mentioned I'd be out, but..."

Sam glances at him long enough to raise an eyebrow at him as he starts down the stairs. "That was a kind of weird conversation," he says, not without sympathy. "Maybe you can introduce me next time?" 

Hiyori feels himself starting to flush. Oh. Oh, oops. "Of course," he says. "Sorry. I wasn't expecting to see him there, and I got caught off-guard." 

"It's not a problem," Sam says mildly. "He just seemed...confused." 

Confusion swirls in Hiyori's own head briefly—a moment of vertigo, as he struggles to adjust his perspective to fit a world in which Sam's words make sense. He has a sense that they're about to, and it turns his stomach. 

"What do you mean?" he asks, wooden. 

"Oh, I just..." Sam turns to him, makes a genuinely apologetic face. "I _did_ just come out of your apartment. Wearing my clothes from last night, first thing in the morning. That's a friend of yours, right?" 

Hiyori blinks at him. "Wait a second," he says. "Ikuya wouldn't think...that..." 

Feeling more than a little sick now, he turns away before Sam can see his expression curdle, leading the way outside.

He hears rather than sees Sam coming after him. "People do think things like that sometimes," he says carefully. 

"Ikuya's known me for years." Ikuya _can't_ think that. Ikuya probably didn't even notice. He's got enough to think about without spending energy making up things about Hiyori...right? 

Except, that applied to the old Ikuya—the one half-drowned in his problems, without the energy to look out at the world around him, much less care. This Ikuya is different, is growing and changing and separating from Hiyori already. 

What if he's gained enough distance to see Hiyori like that? To make assumptions like that? 

"You might want to check with him," Sam says. "Just to be sure. If you have that kind of relationship." 

"We do," Hiyori insists immediately. "We talk about everything. Ikuya knows I'd tell him about something like that." 

"Oh," Sam says. "Then it's probably just my imagination. After all, it's not like that." 

He still sounds a little like he wishes it _were_ like that. Hiyori knows enough about that to politely pretend that isn't the case. "Maybe I will talk to him," he says, as turn a corner and bus stop comes into view. "Thanks for mentioning it. I probably wouldn't have noticed." 

"Is..." Sam says, and then stops, and follows Hiyori for several steps, silently. 

When they get there, Hiyori glances over at him, curious. 

Sam looks almost like he's forgotten that he'd started to say something, but then he peeks up at Hiyori from under his bangs and Hiyori knows he'd been faking it. "Is he the one you talked about?" Sam asks quietly. "The guy you're hung up on?" 

Hiyori frowns down at Sam. "I'm pretty sure I didn't say anything like that last night." 

"You were pretty transparent." Sam sticks his hands in his pockets, makes a pretense of looking for the bus down both sides of the road. Peeks at Hiyori again. "So? Is he?"

"It's not really any of your business," Hiyori says, mild disapproval in his voice. 

"But?" Sam asks. Tilts his head a bit, shameless. 

Hiyori sighs. "Yes. He is." 

"Good luck, man," Sam says, and he sounds honest. "I mean it. If you ever need someone to talk to about it, a shoulder to cry on, I'm here." 

The ulterior motive is so painfully obvious that Hiyori genuinely doesn't know if he can bring himself to point it out. Sam breaks the moment when grins sheepishly. "Of course, if you want a rebound, I'm game for that too," he says. "But that's a separate issue. I just wanna help, I promise." 

"...Thanks," Hiyori says, because he doesn't really know how else to respond to that. Sam just shrugs like he's accepted his response, and waits quietly for the bus. 

When it pulls up, he leans forward and squints to check if it's the right one, and then glances at Hiyori apologetically. "Is this mine?" 

"Yeah." 

"Okay." He steps forward towards the curb, raises a hand in farewell. "Thanks for having me over." 

"Not at all," Hiyori says. "Thanks for...well, everything else." 

"Sure," Sam says, and then turns back to the bus, digging for his wallet. Hiyori watches him step aboard. 

The door shuts and the bus pulls away, and Hiyori turns to go back to the dorms. 

* * *

Hiyori goes back to his room and has just enough time to get his things together before it's time for class to start. He gives up on the homework, and instead arrives strategically a little closer to late than usual; sure enough, Ikuya's sitting in his usual corner, looking vaguely disgruntled that the seats next to him are occupied. Hiyori goes to an empty chair relatively out of his line of vision and hopes that Ikuya won't notice that he doesn't hand anything in. 

Hiyori lingers on his way out, pulled back by an instinct that he can't name; he reorganizes the things in his bag at his seat before finally leaving with the last few stragglers. But Ikuya is waiting for him, looking distinctly as though he is trying to pretend not to do so, but staring down at his phone in the too-still way he does when he's just waiting for a reason to put it away. And the question comes out fast. 

"Who was that earlier?" 

"Sam," Hiyori says simply. Ikuya takes a quick pace out of the building and towards their dorms, and Hiyori lets himself trail in Ikuya's wake. "He's a friend of Kisumi's, and he's in that international exchange group I went to yesterday." 

"How'd he end up here?" 

"I had a bit too much to drink last night," Hiyori says, hoping if he says the words blandly enough Ikuya won't hear the shame trying to squeeze up and out of his throat. His head's still pounding a bit, even now; it'll be time for more painkillers soon. "He made sure I got home safe, but then it was too late for me to feel okay about him leaving." 

"Hm." Ikuya doesn't look particularly pleased. "How'd the thing go? It was a...poetry reading?" 

"More or less." It was a weird event and Hiyori doesn't have the energy to explain it. "It was fine." 

"Did you read anything?" 

Hiyori's chest clenches up, and the timing is stupid—he'll attribute that to hangover-related indigestion. It's not like Ikuya knows anything about why this line of inquiry is a little bit sensitive. "Yeah, they wouldn't let me get out of it," he says lightly. 

Ikuya waits for a moment, like he's kind of expecting Hiyori to say more, but Hiyori genuinely can't think of anything else that could be said. They're already more than halfway back, their dorm faintly visible down the street. "Did they make you drink that much?" he asks finally. 

"If you mean the group, no," Hiyori says. "Sam is...enthusiastic, though." 

"So you mean it was his fault," Ikuya says evenly. 

Hiyori's shoulders lift a bit without his consent. On the one hand, it's true that Sam was the one that drank Hiyori under the table, albeit unintentionally. However, it seems ungrateful to point that out given everything else he did for him. "I don't really think of it like that," he says. 

"Okay." Ikuya looks him over. "Are you feeling okay, though?"

"What?" Hiyori says, and the old smile comes back. He's grateful he can still rely on that particular reflex. "Yeah, why?" 

"Well..." Ikuya's gaze slides away. "I was thinking of getting some extra practice in after class this afternoon, but I can just go by myself. Unless you're interested..." 

"Of course I am," Hiyori says, and his head and stomach and heart are all aching, but Ikuya's being cute and that makes everything just a little bit better. "I'll be ready."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, [here](https://www.loc.gov/poetry/180/089.html) is a copy of the poem I envisioned Hiyori reading last chapter. I'm not super into poetry, but this one's stuck with me for years, and I imagine it resonating with Hiyori similar reasons.
> 
> Please stay as safe and healthy as you can, and thanks so much as always for reading!


	12. Telling Tales

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hiyori gets some unexpected homework.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a shorter chapter for the first time in a while, and I think I've got an idea as to why. See, I recently went through and organized all the bits and pieces of what I've written so far into loose "arcs," and the last chapter finished off the...first one. Of 5. 
> 
> ...I can't guarantee they'll all be as long as the first one was, and honestly I hope they aren't, but yeah. Oops? 
> 
> Some of this chapter is very new, so I hope there aren't too many errors. Also, I promise this is the last chapter for a bit that has direct literary references. When this one came to mind, I really couldn't resist sticking it in somewhere or other.

One afternoon, not long after the poetry reading, Hiyori walks back to his dorm building to find Kinjo waiting for him outside it. 

A shock jolts down his spine as he freezes in place, wondering what to do, but Kinjo's step is light as he approaches; his smirk is closer to a smile than usual, and he comes right up to Hiyori with his hands stuffed into the pockets of an unzipped hoodie, nothing about him sharp except for the glint in his eye. 

"Toono, hey! Been a while." He grins, lazy and slow. "How've you been? Keeping busy?" 

"You could say that," Hiyori says, more on autopilot than anything. It has been a while, he realizes—Kinjo hasn't even texted him in several days at least. "How've you been?" 

"Oh, fine," Kinjo says. "No, but actually—what've you been up to?" 

"Practice, mainly," Hiyori says, and it's true. When Ikuya had invited him to practice together after the poetry reading, he'd thought very little of it; but since then Ikuya had continued, sometimes asking on a day-by-day basis, sometimes trying out different regimens and schedules and trying to convince Terashima and Sagae to follow his example. It had been surprising at first, but not exactly out of character, and Hiyori didn't know what else to do other than agree. 

"Really? I thought you were hanging out with that Shiina guy now." Kinjo gives him a carefully measured look. "Or maybe some of the other Hidaka kids? I'm not good with faces." 

Hiyori stares back, not sure what Kinjo's getting at. Kinjo looks less and less impressed by the second, and finally sighs. 

"You're in a book club or something?" he asks, frustrated. 

Hiyori shrugs, trying to ignore the uncomfortable shiver that comes with the reminder that Kinjo knows about that. "Yeah." 

"Well, good for you. You know, I thought about joining myself," Kinjo says, and there's something of a growl in his voice now that puts Hiyori on edge. 

"Really?" he asks, feigning innocent surprise. 

"Yeah, turns out I'm not much of a _reader,_ " Kinjo says, and that's definitely spite in his voice now. "Besides, those guys? Not my crowd. Can't imagine what _you_ see in them, Toono." 

A longer pause this time, and okay, Hiyori has a guess what Kinjo might be trying to get at. He's not going to give him the satisfaction of showing it, though. 

"Well," he says magnanimously, "intercultural exchange isn't for everyone. I'm surprised you were even interested, frankly." 

"Call me curious," Kinjo says, snide. "But you know, since I just don't have the time for it right now, I thought maybe I could give you a recommendation. Since you're so much into reading lately." 

He slings off his backpack and lets it thud to the ground in front of him, and Hiyori takes the opportunity to take a few steps back as he roots around before pulling out a plain manila envelope.

"I've read this already," he says, holding it out, "and I've got no further use for it, so consider it a present. It's not too difficult, so I'm sure a smart guy like you can get through it in no time."

Hiyori takes the envelope, wary. "Sure," he says. He can't quite bring himself to say 'thank you.' 

"I actually came to the trouble of coming all the way out here to say hi, so you'd better not ignore my generosity," Kinjo adds airily. He slings his backpack onto his shoulders. "Got it?" 

"I'm not sure it'd even be possible," Hiyori mutters, and Kinjo barks out a laugh, sharp. 

"That's the spirit. What are old teammates for, right?" He raises a hand. "Say hi to Kirishima for me." 

"See you," Hiyori says, deflecting, because he will _not_ be telling Ikuya he saw Kinjo and he's not sure he can get away with a lie. 

"We'll be in touch," Kinjo promises, and then he leaves. 

Only later does it occur to Hiyori to wonder how Kinjo knew which dorm building is his. 

* * *

He can't bring himself to ignore the book, the memory of Kinjo's attention still crackling unpleasantly under his skin. 

So he does as Kinjo says: he flops down on the couch and pulls the book out of the envelope. 

He's unpleasantly surprised to see that the book is a fairly nice one, new and hard-bound with a small ribbon coming out of the bottom. 

It's a collection of fairy tales. 

Stomach tight, Hiyori opens the book and scans through the title page, and the table of contents. He finds what he's looking for soon enough—a translation of "The Little Mermaid," page 57. 

How had Kinjo known? Or more to the point, is there any way he does? 

Hiyori flips to page 57, heart in his throat, and there it is. He doesn't read it, but he does look for some sort of sign, a hint that Kinjo is messing with him. 

To his surprise, there's nothing. 

He's left to wonder why Kinjo picked this particular book until three days later, when Kinjo messages him again: _I want a moral for each one. Just to show you're actually reading._

Hiyori—already working through the next book for book club, tired after nearly daily after-school swim practices with Ikuya and his teammates, and struggling more than he reasonably should with actually opening his textbooks to study—sighs and adds the stupid homework assignment to the top of his to-do list. 

He spaces them out to one a day or less. It's definitely out of pettiness and to speak to Kinjo as little as possible, not because he's going to let Kinjo drive him crazy overthinking what he's supposed to say and what Kinjo's game is. 

Nope. Not at all. 

* * *

Oddly enough, discussing fairytales with Kinjo leads to some of the most consistently pleasant encounters he's had with him. He's still an asshole, obviously, but it's almost funny sometimes. His opinion on "The Tortoise and the Hare," for example, is a simple _humans are better than animals. we can move fast AND focus._ Hiyori is absolutely sure that isn't the point, but then again, Kinjo's favorite thing to do is race, so it's an understandable perspective. 

Then there are the ones he clearly hasn’t read the story, either. Hiyori’s relieved, but confused, when Kinjo lets his simple “not my taste” to “The Little Mermaid” slide. _she should’ve stayed in the ocean, people aren’t worth it_ is...very Kinjo, anyway. To his credit, it’s also more coherent than anything Hiyori could’ve said about it at this point. 

(This time, it’s the ending that sticks with him. The sea foam is a distressing image, so easily split up and dissolved for a being who used to be whole and alive. Mermaids are mythical, of course, but where did her _brain_ go? Why not just “she dissolved,” if that’s what happens to foam in the end anyway? She ends up floating in the sky, so wouldn’t smoke make more sense? The ending is ultimately the same regardless, but still, it’s unsettling.)

He thinks that’s the worst of it, when he’s sent that text and had that conversation. He’s starting to wonder, all common sense and evidence to the contrary, whether Kinjo is actually just trying to make excuses to talk to him, whatever the reason might be. 

And then he gets to the bookmark. 

It doesn’t occur to him, at first, that its placement is anything but a coincidence. He’s not familiar with this story—it’s near the back of the book, and more modern than most of the others. It reminds him a little of “Pinocchio,” which he doesn’t remember terribly well, until it doesn’t. 

He can’t tell when reading the story starts hurting. It might be when the skin horse says that to be real is to be well-worn and loved. It might be when the boy in the story forgets about his old favorite toy in favor of something more interesting. 

It might be when the real rabbits run in circles around a sad imitation and find him so very lacking. 

When it starts is uncertain, but by the time the velveteen rabbit finds out he won’t be able to go to the sea, Hiyori’s chest is tight. When he finds out it’s going to be burned, he wants to cry. 

He reads on, horrified, hoping against hope for a decent ending. There’s a fairy, luckily, because sometimes in fairytales such things happen. The rabbit is saved.

The ending _isn’t,_ and it has him in tears for real. 

He sees the indents on the last page, signs of writing in pen on the other side, but it barely registers. He has to set the book aside and curl up on one side of the couch, knees tight against his chest and hands over his mouth in a vain attempt to stay silent. 

He’s cried far too much lately, he tells himself. This is getting ridiculous, but he can’t stop. Truth be told, he doesn’t want to stop. He can’t want to, because if he did, he would have by now. He’s never had so little control of himself. 

But...how did the rabbit go on, without the one who had made him real? What was the point of being free, of being with the other rabbits, finally something resembling normal? How could it make him happy? What were friendships next to the love that he'd left behind? 

Hiyori is different, because he doesn't want to be real. Not if that's what it takes.

He puts his head down and lets the book fall to the floor. 

His phone, beside his head, buzzes. 

Hiyori blinks at it, a little surprised, and picks it up, not letting himself think. 

It isn't from Ikuya, or Kinjo, or Sam. It's Kisumi. _what's up, dude?_

There's a way he's supposed to answer things like these. If he could just think for a moment, then he'd know what it is; but he doesn't feel like thinking. 

Instead, he answers without thinking much about it: _reading fairy tales and making myself sad. you?_

He puts his phone down and stares down at the book again. He's finished one, and isn't sure he has it in him to face another, but Kinjo will expect a response. Especially since Hiyori is increasingly sure that the whole fairytale thing was a buildup to this specific punchline. 

The thought reminds him that Kinjo isn't done. Remembering the marks on the last page, Hiyori gingerly picks up the book again. 

There's a short essay written on the blank page after the story ends, in impatient but legible handwriting. 

> _Toono,_
> 
> _Clearly you're not as smart as you pretend to be, because if you were you would know already. But since you seem to need it spelled out for you, here goes: if you don't ditch Kirishima, you're gonna get burned._
> 
> _If you're not planning to compete, you should get out of the way of those who are instead of being a fake for the rest of your sorry life. If you are, he's only weighing you down._
> 
> _View's great from the top, not that you'll ever know. You can see everything from up here. So let me give you a hint—if you don't make up your mind one way or another, I'll make it for you._
> 
> _Swimming or Kirishima. Choose. Or choose neither, that'd be interesting too. But I wonder whether you have it in you to be more than Kirishima's toy._

He stares at the message for a long time. It's not that the words or the message are difficult, but it's hard to accept that the words were directed at _him._

It's...advice? Well, advice and a threat, but he'd only expect one of those things in any capacity from Kinjo. 

Kinjo's been watching him, but that much had already been clear. But in addition to that...he's having fun with this. Watching Hiyori's life like it's a fairytale, only now that isn't enough; he wants to have a say in how the story goes. 

That...seems new. But then again, Kinjo's always been a quandary. 

Hiyori's phone buzzes again, and he's relieved to see that Kisumi's replied. rough. wanna play basketball? pickup group starts in 15 

Hiyori's always thought he was someone who was difficult to read, but between Kisumi and Kinjo, he's starting to question that assumption.

 _It'll take me longer than that to get there,_ he replies, _but if that's okay, then sure._

* * *

An hour and a half later, they're taking a break after a three-on-three that had started slightly rowdy and ended in a surprisingly fierce battle for supremacy. Hiyori plucks off his glasses and wipes his face on his shirt, gasping. 

"You all right, man?" Kisumi says, coming up and clapping him on the shoulder. 

"Yeah." The smile's easier to find than he would have expected while he's trying to get his breath back. "Yeah, that was...really fun." He turns to Sam, who followed Kisumi over. "Sorry about that block." 

Sam and Kisumi had been together on the team against Hiyori, this time. He'd knocked Sam on his ass trying to stop him from getting to the basket, but Sam just laughs and brushes his sweaty bangs out of his eyes. "No worries." He ducks a little further into Hiyori's personal space, squinting up at him. "Your eyes are red?" 

Hiyori blinks. "Hm? Oh, I got sweat in them." It's true; they still sting, but the wipe-down's helping. 

"Ouch," Kisumi says, sympathetic but unbothered. "Hey, are you sure you can't get some other Shimogami guys to come out here? Three-on-three is great and all, but full teams would be more fun." 

"Maybe," Hiyori says. "Maybe further into the off-season, if I can convince anyone that cross-training is a good idea. But I don't really talk with the other team members much." 

"Why not?" Kisumi says. "You're a pretty good conversationalist." 

"Am I? Thank you." 

Sam shakes his head. "You're not cute at all, though," he says, with a grin. "I can help you with that sometime, if you want."

_Cute...?_

Hiyori almost voices his trepidation aloud, but Kisumi just pushes a hand into the back of Sam's head, mussing his hair and making his chin dip forward. "I'm not sure Hiyori can pull off your levels of cute, Sam-chan." 

Sam preens, looking delighted to be teased, and Hiyori looks between them with interest. Had they gotten on that well before?

"Sure he can," Sam says, and shakes his head to dislodge Kisumi. "Anyway, Kisumi, I wanted to ask you. Can we do a coin toss for teams instead of _janken_? Pretty please?" 

Kisumi chuckles. "What's wrong with _janken_?" 

"I can't keep up! Japanese people play it so quickly." 

They're still bickering lightly as Hiyori follows them over to the knot of players. His heart's still pounding heavily in his chest, but it's a comfortable feeling. It sticks around even when he and Sam are picked as team captains. Hiyori is gracious about skipping rock-paper-scissors (Sam is really bad at timing) in favor of a coin toss, which he wins anyway. He picks Kisumi—partly to halve the amount of vengeance directed his way and partly because he's not totally sure he can remember the other players' names, or who's told him to drop honorifics. 

Kisumi picks their third, and they win. 

He's more than a little sad when it's over, and oddly empty when Kisumi leaves him with just a hand thrown up in farewell. It disappears when Sam comes up to him, still panting a bit, but looking satisfied.

"Hey," he asks. "Everything okay? How've you been?" 

The straightforward concern pushes a few more shadows away, and Hiyori can't summon any more sadness to talk about. "Yeah," Hiyori says, glad that he's able to mean it, "I'm...there's been some stuff, but yeah. I'm good." He looks over at Sam. "How about you?" 

Sam nods. "Pretty good." 

"I saw you and Kisumi are getting along well." 

"...Yeah." It's hard to tell under the sweat, but it seems like Sam's blushing. "Yeah, he's a really good guy." 

"He really is," Hiyori says, and doesn't push it. He hadn't noticed before the way that Sam thrills at positive attention. He's not sure exactly what that means—whether he's just a flirt, or if it means something different. But it's a pleasant kind of curiosity, and he'd be lying if he said it didn't make Sam a little more...relatable. 

"Yeah," Sam says again, and then looks up at Hiyori. "Anyway. I'll see you at the next book club?" 

"Yeah," Hiyori says. "I'll be there." 

* * *

It's late by the time he gets back to campus, but there's something...warm, in him, that lingers all the way there, and after he's arrived. He ponders it as he trudges back to his dorm, shuts the door behind him, showers, does his homework, turns off the light before folding down into his bed, curls onto his side. 

Today should have ended badly. He's had enough bad days to know that. Even more importantly, he's seen enough of _Ikuya's_ bad days to know that. And yet...it didn't.

When Ikuya was struggling with something, Hiyori usually wouldn't let it sit for too long. He'd dig and dig, or really they'd dig together, trying to find the shape of it, its edges and causes. Sometimes there had been yelling, or tears, or stomping away and folded arms and a glare that cut the furrow between Ikuya's brows deep into his forehead, but they'd eventually gotten the shape of the thing, and whatever it ended up being, Hiyori had been there to hear it, to face it head-on. 

What Kisumi did today was...different. Simple acknowledgement, and then moving right along—not like it was something to avoid, not exactly, but it hadn't been something to worth a day of brooding, either. Hiyori had won two games of basketball today, and his body is still humming with a satisfied tiredness. 

It was, he found with profound surprise, enough. He hadn't known that something like that could be enough.

It did make him ache in a way that had nothing to do with basketball, though, to consider that maybe he should have learned how to do that for Ikuya more often. 

Maybe it's still something he can learn now, he thinks. He'll need to work on it. 

* * *

He sees a message from Kinjo on his phone the next morning. _So, what did you think?_

It's easier than it's ever been to ignore him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: 
> 
> \- Look, between The Little Mermaid and Night on the Night on the Galactic Railroad, canon already has Sad Literary Vibes going. Adding in The Velveteen Rabbit seemed appropriate. (This could be selective memory on my part, but I don't think any of the other characters got references to specific literary works in their arcs? So it's a really neat detail for these two!) 
> 
> \- The redness of bloodshot eyes can really stand out against green and hazel irises. (Ask me how I know. :P)
> 
> \- About rock-paper-scissors/ _janken_ : Sam's problems with it are based on my own experience. According to a Japanese video game, I have the _janken_ reflexes of an 80-year-old. My students play it so fast that I sometimes have to ask who won.
> 
> Anyway, thanks so much for reading, and I'll see you next week! This one's been a bit tough for me, as I'm sure it's been for a lot of you, but let's keep hanging in there.


	13. Hindsight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regrets and resolutions, if maybe not all the right ones.
> 
> (Minor spoiler warning, see opening notes!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were some things I knew I wanted in this chapter, and then others that I didn't realize I wanted till they happened. Hopefully the latter will be a pleasant surprise for y'all, too. 
> 
> (Mild spoiler warning for a vague allusion to a scene from the movie, but I think unless you know it already it's a little hard to spot. It can easily be read as a headcanon unless you know it's there.)

Ikuya regrets the first message thirty seconds after sending it. 

He's not sure why he forgot about Hiyori's book club. It's not like it's changed days recently—after that first poetry reading, they'd settled on a mid-week time slot, conveniently on a day when Hiyori didn't have practice. 

He sends the message because that's what he's been doing, when he's bored and it's not already a practice day—he texts Hiyori and asks if he wants to practice. Hiyori's answer is usually _yes,_ though sometimes he apologizes and asks if it can wait for a little while. Once or twice he's been at Kisumi's basketball circle, and those days Ikuya's usually given up and asked Kotarou or Shin. 

This time, though, he'd known better. He'd been bored, and the morning sets he'd gotten Sagae to agree to earlier that week had gone fine but left him feeling unchallenged, and there were still several hours before the pool would close. He just hadn't been thinking. 

He sends another message to follow the first, even though Hiyori hasn't read the first one: _nvm, forgot you're out today_

He's frustrated with himself. The last thing he wants to do is annoy Hiyori or seem clingy. He knows better than to do that sort of thing. People don't appreciate it. He's already been bugging his teammates to try to fit in more practices every week, but he it still doesn't feel like enough. 

Sure, it's a process. He'd only come to the school recently, and he'd been swept up in the heat of preparations for the full season; but now things are winding down into the off-season. The more serious among the upperclassmen each have their own routines, and the other new members are still trying to figure out how much extra work they're willing to commit to. 

He's heard Hoshikawa talk it over with some of the other first-years; telling them to get a handle on their academics first and ease into things. But Ikuya's been serious about this for a long time, and he's happy with how he's doing with his classes. So he's more than ready to buckle down and commit to getting serious. 

That said, it hasn't happened yet, and he's starting to get frustrated with himself for it. 

He doesn't think very well when he winds himself up too far, so he decides to be productive instead of brooding. He'll do a quick workout and then sit down with the problem and consider it, again. 

It's still in the back of his mind as he changes and pads out to the pool—more than half the lanes are empty today, half the pool all but deserted, and he marks it down in his head that this might be a good time of day to check. Or it would be, if Hiyori were available. 

Whatever. 

He does his normal warm-ups, moves on to technique. There's not a lot of point to that without anyone to check his form, but he tries to tell it apart by feel and by keeping an eye on his times. Then tries a few sprints, just to see how he does. Given he's already practiced that morning, he's doing pretty well. 

He's only a few strokes down the lane near the end of his main sets when the feeling appears, out of nowhere. It starts from somewhere inside him and spirals outward, cold and uncertain and tingling in his veins. It's not real, it would be easy to dismiss, but its presence immediately threatens to throw off his rhythm. 

Ikuya tries to push through it, for one stroke, two, three, but he's not sure about it. He's angry about the doubt, about the fear that is materializing as ice in the tips of his toes, in smaller, more careful breaths. He can feel the temptation to panic or thrash against the feeling, and grimly refuses to let that happen. 

Because he didn't listen to it, he's halfway out when a _vicious_ cramp wraps itself around his right leg and sinks in, vicious and impossible to ignore. 

He reacts on instinct, almost doubling over as he pulls up short, hissing with the pain of it. There's no time or space to think; he's trapped with aborted half-kicks and a body tightening itself down in an irrational attempt to get rid of the pain, the desperate awareness that he needs to keep going, needs to keep his head above water. He's used to crossing the pool in a time measured in seconds, but suddenly the distance to the end of the lane is wears away inch by agonizing inch as he paddles pathetically to the side. 

He's halfway back to the side when he remembers that he can use the lane lines, and grabs onto them with a tiny sound of relief. They won't fully support his weight, of course, but they're enough to help pull him along, and they give him a concrete sense of making progress, instead of trying and trying with nothing to show for it. 

He gets there, and his heart is pounding, and this is stupid but it's _scary_. He's absolutely fine, albeit in pain, but he's definitely scared. His annoyance at himself eats away at it, though. As he tries his best to get out of the pool with something resembling dignity and curl up on solid ground, hissing as he pokes about his twisted-up calf, embarrassment and irritation start to gain an upper hand. 

But he's still scared. 

He gets up the second he's sure his dumb leg will support his weight and hobbles over to one of the benches at the poolside, starting in on a bit of light stretching. He's still deciding whether or not to give up the entire practice session as a lost cause when he spots the distinctive bangs poking out from under the captain's swim cap, at the front of a small knot of upperclassmen. 

Ikuya jumps, tries to turn his head away in hopes of being overlooked, but he's too late; Hoshikawa spots him, and raises his hand in greeting. Ikuya nods, trying to look casual, but Hoshikawa seems to have sensed that something's off, because he makes his way over. 

"Kirishima," he says. "What's up?" 

"Hey, Captain," Ikuya says. "Not much—taking a bit of a break, that's all." 

"So it seems." Hoshikawa looks him over—Ikuya's trying to look normal, but he doesn't think it's working, and he is sitting on a bench without so much as a towel or his phone, so he doesn't really have a lot backing him up—and then scans the lanes with a faint frown. 

"You here on your own?" he asks. 

"Yeah," Ikuya says, and Hoshikawa's frown deepens. 

"I...see." Hoshikawa looks at him for a long moment, and then sighs and sits down next to him, carefully out of range of the sad little puddle Ikuya's made. "Extra practice?" 

"Yeah." 

"You've been doing that a lot lately." Hoshikawa says. 

Ikuya shrugs. "No time like the off-season to get some extra training in, right?" 

"That's one way of looking at it," Hoshikawa says. "Do you...usually practice by yourself?" 

"No," Ikuya says. 

"Good," Hoshikawa. "Because...look, I know you're not a kid, Kirishima, but it's better to train with supervision. You know that, right?" 

Ikuya stiffens, ignoring the flare of pain that runs up his leg in response. "I'm perfectly capable of—” 

"I'm not saying you _can't,_ " Hoshikawa says. "I'm not the boss of you—well, I am, actually, a little bit..." 

It's a weak joke, and Ikuya's had too many people try to tell him what he _can't do_ to be willing to acknowledge humor. Hoshikawa's smile drops again. 

"But still," he says. "if you want more practice, you can always ask your teammates. Or even have another friend come study poolside while you're out here. Someone to time you, whatever. As long as someone's got your back—it's safer to have a buddy, that's all I'm saying. Especially if you're going to push yourself—” 

"What are you implying?" Ikuya asks, voice sharp. 

"I'm—” Hoshikawa pauses, sighs. "I'm not trying to imply anything," he says, softly. "I'm just...a little concerned, that's all." 

"Would you be _concerned_ about anybody else doing this?" Ikuya asks, before he can stop himself. "Or is it just that it's me?" 

He hates the look Hoshikawa's giving him. The transparent disappointment at his attitude, the concern that's he's trying and failing to hide. He hates that he's weak enough to be out of the water on the first place, to look weak enough that it draws the captain down on him. He hates that Hoshikawa's expression looks so much like his brother's always made when Ikuya failed. 

Then Hoshikawa's expression changes, into something sterner. He turns further, to face Ikuya, and plants his fists on his knees. "I should care no matter what," he says. "But you're right, Kirishima—this _is_ about you. Everyone knows how driven you are—and we've also seen how Toono reacts to it." 

Ikuya's not going to allow that. "Hiyori is—” 

"More than a little bit of a mother hen," Kirishima allows. "I'm not saying we agree with him. But if I had to rank all the members of the team by who'd be the most likely to end up overtraining, I think you'd be near the top of that list." He gives Ikuya a long look. "Am I wrong about that?" 

Ikuya frowns. It' s not bad to be known for his dedication, but he still knows he's being criticized. 

Hoshikawa shakes his head. "Look, you're already going places, but if you're really serious about training, maybe you should start looking for a private coach. That would really help you develop at the best pace you can hope for, and reduce your chances of causing damage in the process." 

That's...a remarkably reasonable suggestion. Ikuya isn't quite sure how to get a good coach, or whether he'd be able to afford one, or how any of that works. But he knows that Haru has one, now. Maybe he can ask him—or ask Makoto, who is more likely to know what's up with Haru than Haru is. Knowing Haru, the guy probably wouldn't have a straight answer for him, anyway. 

"I'll consider it," he says. 

"In the meantime, invite Toono or something," Hoshikawa says, clapping him on the shoulder. "Or any of the others—get some numbers next time, ask if anybody else wants some extra time, whatever. You'll figure something out. Just be responsible, all right?" 

Part of him still resents being treated like a kid—he's been _doing_ those things, after all—but he's given that part of him enough rein already. The best way to convince people that he's grown is not to snap at every little thing, anyway. "Sure," he says, trying to act cool. 

"Great," Hoshikawa say, and stands. "Speaking of, if you're done resting for now, you could join us? It's just me and a couple friends, you're more than welcome to join." 

Ikuya surreptitiously tests his leg, flexing his foot back and forth. It feels substantially better, but he doesn't want to push it, he decides. Not only would it be bad if it cramped up again in front of the team captain, but he knows cramps are a sign of possible strain or exhaustion. Either way, he should probably take it as a sign to stop. 

It's the _mature_ thing to do, after all. 

"Thanks for the offer," he says, "but I was just wrapping up. I'll keep what you said in mind, though." 

He takes his time in the locker room, showering and holding his leg under the hot spray, massaging it from ankle to knee. It feels pretty much back to normal now, and Ikuya tries to give the rest of himself a check-over as he rinses off. 

He's...tired, sure. He slept in today, but hadn't slept well, which happened sometimes. He'd thought some exercise would help, especially after a day of studying that had felt pointless and left him buzzing and restless, stuck in his own head. But it turned out he isn't just restless and stiff from inactivity, he's _actually_ been tired. 

Which, now that he thinks about his schedule lately...kind of makes sense. 

Ikuya sighs and straightens up again, feeling the water hit his face, but it isn't enough to warm away the cold doubt settling in along his spine. 

He thought he was _over_ this. He's been happy, he's been better...he's been improving, not getting worse. He'd genuinely thought that the overtraining problem was a thing of the past, that any residual fears he had about the water were only bad memories that didn't need to have any real power over him. 

He...may not be over it. It might not have been something that happened just because he was sad. He wasn't sad the first time, after all, when he was trying to catch up to Haru. 

Maybe it's just something he's always going to have to be careful about. Maybe Hoshikawa was right, and he, specifically, shouldn't train alone. 

That's a depressing thought, but it seems like a very real possibility. 

Ikuya scrubs at his face, feeling sore and vulnerable and upset with himself, and then turns off the water. 

He dries himself off and wraps up in the towel before going over to his locker, and he's just gotten his underwear on and transferred his towel to his shoulders when he the door to the locker room opens. 

He sees Hiyori's eyes scan the room and land on him, right away, and the way Hiyori rushes over has him feeling small. 

"Hey," Hiyori says. "I got your message. I'm sorry I didn't reply." 

"It's fine," Ikuya says, because it is. "Like I said, I forgot you had your thing today." He sneaks a glance at Hiyori, guilty. "Actually, why aren't you still there?" 

"I was on my way back anyway," Hiyori says, suspiciously smooth and upbeat for a moment, before he hesitates again. "I saw your message, and then your lights weren't on and and you still hadn't seen my message, so...I thought you might be here. Did...did Sagae or Terashima come along, or...?" 

"No," Ikuya says, "I thought twice about bothering anyone else on short notice. I just wanted to practice for a little bit, anyway." 

Hiyori pales. "You were..." He stops, leans out of Ikuya's space as Ikuya uses putting his shirt on as an excuse not to look at him. "I'm sorry," he says again, voice low, when Ikuya pulls down the collar of his shirt and looks at him again. "I should've...I didn't realize..." 

"It's not a big deal—” Ikuya begins, and Hiyori sets his jaw and turns back and swallows, shaky, before speaking. 

"It is," he says. "Ikuya, I'm _really_ sorry, please don't get mad at me, it's not that I don't trust you or you're not a strong swimmer, you _are,_ it's just—” 

"It's not safe to train alone," Ikuya says, quiet, and he can't help the bitterness of that, it's _there_ and he can't help rubbing it in a little bit. "You know, you've told me about doing that, too." 

"I shouldn't have," Hiyori says quietly. "I won't anymore. You're right, it _is_ dangerous. They don't have a lifeguard on duty here." 

It's hypocritical, the way he turns on a dime like that the second Ikuya makes the comparison. But Ikuya doesn't think he's lying, either, when he says he'll stop. 

"We can set up a schedule, if you want," Hiyori continues, steadily. "It'll be less spontaneous, but you like planning, right? Whenever you want, whatever you want to try, we'll make it work. Maybe get some of our teammates in on it, too." A faint smile that falls too quickly. "So, Ikuya...please, don't do this again. Okay?" 

Ikuya looks him over, under the guise of considering it. Hiyori's color is off; he's pale, expression drawn. That, combined with the fluorescents overhead, bring out shadows that are usually camouflaged by his glasses, a hint of darker skin hiding under his eyes. 

He's been wanting to see more of Hiyori lately, if he's being honest. Wanted the unspoken assumption of them hanging out to come _back_ , even though it's his own fault for going off-campus as often as he has lately, for making friends with other swim team members faster and more effectively than Hiyori has. He's been too much of a coward to ask directly, some part of him sure that Hiyori would turn him down eventually, or at least get tired of the questions. 

What Hiyori's offering is...sort of what he wants, or what he would have said he wanted, even an hour ago. But it doesn't feel good now. He doesn't like the look on Hiyori's face as he offers. 

"You don't have to come along _every_ time," he says, and sits down to pull on his socks. 

There's audible relief in Hiyori's voice when he answers. "That's fine, I can fill in the gaps. Like I said, Terashima and Sagae—and you could always check with your friends at Shimogami, too." 

"Maybe." Ikuya grabs his bag and slings it over his shoulder as he stands. "...Are you really okay with that?" 

"Always," Hiyori says, immediate and straightforward, and Ikuya takes him in, from his unblinking expression to the way one hand is tight around his backpack strap. 

There is no way for him to doubt that Hiyori means it, and something about that, not to mention the unequivocal nature of the offer, makes Ikuya stop short. 

Part of him has been sure, lately, that Hiyori has better things to do, bigger things to worry about now. After all, Hiyori's been able to make other friends and have his own friends, now that Ikuya isn't so terribly dependent on him. 

If he's honest with himself, part of him is wondering when Hiyori's won't start getting annoyed with him soon. 

...But then again, Hiyori isn't Natsuya, and he isn't Haru. That's an unfair thing for him to expect, and Hiyori's answer now just proves it. 

"Okay," Ikuya says, slowly. "Yeah, I...I want to do that. Let's do that." 

"Whatever you want," Hiyori promises, and follows Ikuya out of the building. 

The colder, drier air outside is a mild shock against his damp skin, but it lets him breathe easier, too. He lengthens his stride as they leave the building, and then fights back a wince, making them a little _less_ wide, as his muscles protest at him. 

Hm. The odds that he's pushed a little too far during that last workout tick up in his mind. Oh well, that's a valuable data point. 

Hiyori, beside him, stops short. "Are...are you limping?" 

Ikuya tries to glare as he reluctantly stops himself, but gets the feeling it isn't working quite right. "No, I'm not."

"You are, you're favoring your right leg." Hiyori comes closer. "Did something happen?" 

"It cramped after I was done practicing," Ikuya snaps, hoping the aggravated tone will cover the half-lie. "I'm just being a baby about it. It's fine." 

"No, that sounds painful." Hiyori's moved into his bubble. "You can lean on me, if you want to take some extra weight off it." 

"You don't need to—” 

"I want to." Hiyori's voice is soft as he says it, almost apologetic, but there's a smile on his face. "Or at least let me carry your bag or something, but you should really—” 

"Fine," Ikuya says. Hiyori reaches out for his bag—but Ikuya shakes his head, expecting the misunderstanding, and steps under Hiyori's arm, raising one hand to sling around his far shoulder. 

He can't really see Hiyori's face from this angle, but he's busy looking down to adjust his bag and hide his expression, which is probably something embarrassing. Hiyori braces an arm around his ribs, helping to distribute his weight off his foot, and it doesn't take them too long to fall into a stride that works for both of them. 

It's been a while since Hiyori's gotten this close to him. Now that he feels him nearby again, it's like he'd never left. A knee thrown out to connect with his own, an arm over the back of a shared sofa, tugging Ikuya down invitingly against him when they were on a long plane or train ride...only now does it occur to Ikuya that as far as he can remember, Hiyori hasn't done something like that in a while. 

And yet...having had Asahi sprawl bonelessly on top of him a few times in the meantime; remembering Haru's slow, but uncomplaining response to his handful of attempts at affection; even thinking of Makoto's attempts at contact, easygoing one moment and sweetly awkward the next, practically screaming "older brother" either way—it's hard not to notice the differences when Hiyori touches him. 

Compared to them all, Hiyori's always been...solid, just this side of stiff. Still and deliberate. But now he's practically _rigid,_ all hard muscle and faltering attempts at support in a way that has Ikuya feeling more off-balance, not less. 

Why did he stop doing this? Well, fine, not this specifically—there's a very specific and logical reason for this, right now. But...there weren't always, before. And he did it anyway, but then he stopped. 

Truth be told, now that he has the reminder, Ikuya realizes that he's kind of missed it. 

And now he's relaxing, at least a bit. He still has to hold himself up, of course, but he fits easier into the crook of Hiyori's arm than he would have expected. He's gratified when the closer he gets, the more Hiyori relaxes himself, muscles no longer almost vibrating with tension against Ikuya's shoulders and against his temple. They slow down as they get closer to the dorms, and Hiyori ducks his head a bit to look down at him. 

"Let's get you inside," he says. Ikuya feels the words almost as well as he hears them, the vibrations passing between both of them. Ikuya peeks up, but Hiyori isn't looking at him; his voice is warm, but he's not fully looking Ikuya's way, and it's hard to judge his expression from this angle, but his jaw seems tight. 

He nods, face still close up against Hiyori's shoulder. "...Will you stay for a bit?" he asks. His voice is smaller than he would have wanted it to be, but he's probably lucky he got the question out at all. 

He feels Hiyori stiffen again, and look down at him. "Of course," he says, sounding surprised. "If...if that's what you want, then I'd be happy to." 

Ikuya ducks his head, but pulls in closer. "Good," he mumbles, and then lets go to fumble for his key. "I can handle the stairs," he says, and stays a step ahead so he can open the door for them. He moves slowly, but Hiyori stays a step behind him, patient. It's stupid how reassuring it is to have Hiyori at his back. 

When they get situated inside, it's one of their closer positions—Ikuya curled up sideways on his couch with his feet pushed into Hiyori's legs as he sits normally. Hiyori looks over his legs critically, glancing at Ikuya in momentary question. 

"Does your leg still hurt?" he asks. 

"No," Ikuya says, shaking his head. "I'm just a little sore." 

"Maybe you've been pushing a little too hard," Hiyori says, gently chiding. "Have you taken off any days this week?" 

"Sure, once," Ikuya says. He shrugs. "I didn't get a ton of sleep this week. I'm gonna double-check my diet regimen and my schedule, too, but I think this was probably just a fluke." 

"That's good," Hiyori says, carefully neutral, and Ikuya watches the way his gaze slides away to stare blankly at Ikuya's coffee table. 

Something in Ikuya, something cold and tight and shaking, only tightens further when he sees that look on Hiyori's face. Something about it reminds him of how it had felt to flail around in the water, alone, nothing to hold onto or ground himself with, and wondering in his panic if he had it in him to get to the side. 

He considers, briefly, telling Hiyori about that moment of panic—explaining how scared he'd felt, even though it didn't make sense for him to be. Telling him that he understands why Hiyori's so scared for him—that far from being offended by it, as Hiyori seems to expect him to be, it makes _sense_. 

He's not angry with Hiyori, when Hiyori does this. He's just frustrated with himself. 

Ikuya wants to love the water, wants throw himself wholeheartedly into it, but...it hasn't always been kind to him. As much as he wishes he could be just like Haru, he's not. He doesn't need to fight the water alone to be a strong swimmer, and he's starting to think he shouldn't, at least not for a while yet. It really might not be safe for him to try. 

Maybe he'd be fine, and he's making a big deal of nothing. But he doesn't really want to put that to the test, anymore. He wants to tell Hiyori that—that he finally _gets_ it, that he wants to be more careful. 

But he remembers the rigid fear in Hiyori's posture, the wretched look he'd had when he'd asked Ikuya not to go out alone. Remembers Hiyori call him his _hero,_ even if he'd been talking about his younger self. 

He's not sure knowing that he's afraid will actually make Hiyori feel better. He's actually kind of worried about the opposite—that it's only going to make things worse. 

So he pushes a toe against Hiyori's leg, just hard enough to get his attention. "Hey."

Hiyori looks over at him. "Yes?" 

"Wanna play a game? I've got a few on my laptop." 

Hiyori blinks at him. "Oh. Sure." 

It isn't something they've done often, but by a few hours later, Ikuya's privately resolved that that's going to change, because Hiyori is _terrible_ at video games, and it's hilarious. When he'd seen Hiyori's valiant-but-doomed efforts at the arcade before, he'd thought that he just wasn't used to the machines, but he's equally helpless when he's using a keyboard. Ikuya muses aloud that maybe Hiyori do better with a controller, but Hiyori admits sheepishly that it probably wouldn't help, right as he gets killed in under a minute for the third time in a row. 

Ikuya can't help it; he laughs. Then he sits up, scoots in close to Hiyori, and starts trying to coach him. 

They stay up too late playing video games together, stopping only when Hiyori insists on fetching them both dinner. Watching Hiyori reach the end of each level he'd been struggling with makes Ikuya happier than he has any right to be. 

When he asks if Hiyori will spend the night, Hiyori agrees without hesitating. They sleep the way they always have, with Hiyori bundled up on Ikuya's couch and Ikuya on his bed. 

The cold and the fear are both gone. He's so glad Hiyori's here with him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a lot to say about this chapter, but I'm not sure it's quite time to say all of it yet. (For one thing, this is one of those chapters where I'm not sure exactly what came across.) For now, though, a little bit of fluff and shippy stuff for once! These boys need a break sometimes, too. 
> 
> Thank you so much, everyone who's been reading and commenting. I know I say it every week, but I mean it every time.


	14. Ebb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Midterms are coming up—schedules are getting difficult, and tensions are high. It's nothing Hiyori hasn't dealt with before, and he has no good reason to fail. 
> 
> Why does he feel like he's failing anyway?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, this chapter was kind of fussy. It's a bit of an interstitial chapter, unfortunately, but there's necessary stuff in here, too. 
> 
> (Brief hypothetical death mention warning early on in this chapter. Also, just...Hiyori.)

Hiyori and Ikuya make a schedule. It's a demanding one—morning practices almost every day, afternoon or evening practices more than half the time. It works around both their classes. It's the sort of thing that Hiyori's glad Ikuya isn't attempting alone, and he's determined to make sure none of these practices go unsupervised, even if that means he has to be at all of them at first. 

He's relieved that it went so well, after the way he'd felt when Ikuya had messaged him and then gone to practice on his own. 

If it had been anyone else, Hiyori would have suspected that Ikuya had meant to make him feel terrible—but Ikuya isn't like that, would never try to punish someone else that way. He'd still been upset, and guilty, but he doesn't blame Ikuya for it, and knows that this would be the worst time to push him away, or even push him too hard at all. 

The last time Hiyori had been upset with Ikuya, he'd let it become an argument and Ikuya had rejected him. 

It had been just like when he was younger, when he'd decided to throw a tantrum the first few times his parents had left him alone on short notice. The trouble was, arguing didn't stop the people he loved from leaving, and it meant that he spent the time they were gone feeling miserable, out of control, and on the edge of panic. When they returned, they were still unhappy with him, too. It was pretty much the worst, and he'd wanted to avoid that outcome as quickly as he could. 

People, Hiyori's learned, don't want to change their minds, and it's easier for everyone involved if he can at least pretend to agree with whatever they're saying. It hasn't always worked, and when it fails, he hates the feeling of losing control, hates the way people look at him with anger, the dark feeling of helplessness that envelops him as a result. Every time is another reminder to keep himself in check, and never show when he's upset. 

But this time, he couldn't let it slide. He'd needed to succeed, or Ikuya might have kept practicing by himself. So he'd forced himself to ask Ikuya not to do it again, and they'd talked. 

And Ikuya had listened, had let Hiyori support him and look out for him even though he'd just failed him _again._

(Ikuya _could have died,_ it's only a tiny chance and it's not Hiyori's responsibility but he'd still never be able to live with himself if something had happened.) 

Better yet, for some reason Ikuya had still seemed to want him around afterwards. 

And the scheduling doesn't turn out to be difficult, either. Ikuya doesn't have any other commitments aside from time at Hidaka, so it's fine for him, but...looking at what Ikuya wants, Hiyori realizes quickly that there's no way for him to make it to Kisumi's basketball circle regularly anymore. Fitting in the book club is been tricky enough as it is. 

He doesn't complain, and Ikuya doesn't ask. It's fine—this will be to his benefit, too. 

That said, Hiyori needs to get used to negotiating very quickly. Kisumi's always kind when he has to turn down an invitation, which makes Hiyori feel worse, so he still accepts them whenever he can. It's not often enough, and half the time when he sees Kisumi he finds himself apologizing. 

Kisumi always tells him it's fine, but Hiyori can't help but notice that it seems like Kisumi's smiling less around him. He doesn't know how to make it up to him, to show how grateful he is, without being weird. If it were Ikuya he could just say it, maybe ask if there's anything wrong, but they don't exactly have that sort of relationship. 

"I'm going to need to tell Ikuya to quit stealing you," Kisumi jokes at him once, when he does manage to come, and Hiyori reacts before he can think about it. 

"Please don't," he says, which would be fine except the words come out just a bit too sharp, too scared. 

Kisumi looks him over, mouth suddenly shut, and nods. "I'm kidding," he says mildly. "You can do whatever you want, Hiyori. I know swimming is important to you." 

"Th-thanks," Hiyori says, and looks away over to where one of the other games is running. He forces himself to look back, smiles. "You...I really appreciate how much you invite me places, you know. Even though I can't always come." 

"You're welcome," Kisumi says, and his smile takes a moment or two to arrive, but it's genuine. "I know you'd do the same for me." 

"If I knew about anything, yeah." Of course, he doesn't. Kisumi doesn't seem to mind, but it still bothers him, how little he can do. 

It's worse when Hiyori misses the next three practices after that, because studying...well, there's enough time for it, in theory, but right now the only thing he wants to do when he's by himself is crack open a book and forget about the world for a little while. With midterms coming up, is exactly what he shouldn't be doing, and something has to give. 

He can't ask Ikuya to suffer the consequences of his own shortcomings. He's never known Ikuya to slack off, ever. Even when he could barely bring himself to get out of bed, on the really bad days, Ikuya always did his best. Hiyori owes it to both Ikuya and himself to do the same. 

He decides to just stop going to the basketball circle at all, at least until the end of midterms. He knows he's taking advantage of Kisumi's patience and he hates it, and honestly he misses going too. But it's the one thing other than sleep that he can cut out of his schedule to keep up until he figures out how to re-balance everything, and he's already cut down on more sleep than he'd willingly admit. 

He's more frustrated with himself than he'd like to admit, but cutting out one thing does help...right up till the week before midterms. By that point, there are assignments he's been putting off and studying he needs to do. He makes apologies to Sam—Sam is, thankfully, nice about it—and stops going to the book club for a few weeks. He returns all the books he's been reading for fun to the library, mutes his group chats, and hides all the books he'd been reading for fun. He puts on music whenever Ikuya isn't around so he can remember how to move, and he jumps at the chance to study with him, because it's one of the only times he feels like he gets anything done. 

He's staying afloat, more or less. But he's worried about Ikuya. 

"I'm not saying you have to drop your schedule completely," he says on the way to their morning practice a few days before midterms begin. "Just for the next couple of weeks, though—I know you've been staying up late to finish things, I have too. Maybe we can change some of the practices to study time?" 

Ikuya shakes his head, stubborn. "I'm okay. It's not like practice conditions will always be ideal. This will be like...a stress test. A small one." 

"Are you sure?" Hiyori asks. 

Ikuya nods, then gives Hiyori a defiant look. "You don't have to join me, you know," he says. "You don't need to convince me if—" 

Hiyori starts shaking his head before Ikuya can finish. "I don't mind joining you," he says. "I'm just checking in, that's all." 

Ikuya gives him a long look, but says nothing further that night. 

That changes the next day, when Hiyori ends up half the lane length behind by the end of their warm-up. Ikuya stops and waits for him, floating at the end of the lane with his arms crossed. 

"Sorry," Hiyori pants, stretching his sore shoulders over his head. "Rough morning." 

"How much sleep did you get last night?" Ikuya demands. 

"...A few hours," Hiyori says. "I think." 

"So that's what it is. I know you've been eating okay, so I figured." Ikuya sighs. "Couldn't sleep, or...?" 

Hiyori shakes his head, though there'd been that too. "Anthropology assignment," he says. 

Ikuya sighs. "This is ridiculous. If you need more time to study, you can just say so." 

"But—" 

"Do you have your stuff with you?" Ikuya asks. 

Hiyori nods. 

"Come on." 

Ikuya pulls himself out of the pool and reaches down, dragging Hiyori out after him. He marches him to the shower and watches him change, then sits him down on a bench at the poolside. 

"You can keep an eye on me from here," he says. "There's no point in training when you're exhausted." 

Hiyori looks down at his lap and nods. His eyes feel over-hot, and he can't quite meet Ikuya's eye. 

"Hiyori." Ikuya bends down further, joins him on the bench. "This is fine. I'm not—mad at you, or anything." 

"I—still," Hiyori blurts out, and then swallows. "I'm interrupting your practice. Sorry." 

"You can tell me if you don't want to actually train," Ikuya insists. "You're already helping me out by coming along at all." 

"Are you sure?" Hiyori asks. "I can still—" 

"Yes, I'm sure. Come on, Hiyori, You're here, aren't you?" Ikuya stands up. "Sorry about this. I know I'm working on getting a coach, but you shouldn't be stuck babysitting me all the time."

"It's really fine," Hiyori protests weakly, but Ikuya's already heading back to the lanes with a wave, apparently not bothered. He asks Hiyori to time a few of his sprints, but that's about it. 

Hiyori keeps his phone and electronics to one side, out of his pockets, and holds his textbook up so he can keep an eye on Ikuya at all times. It's not the most comfortable way to work, but it's better than nothing.

It helps him not to embarrass himself as badly at practice that afternoon, either, and after talking with Ikuya about it, he decides to just study poolside while Ikuya trains on the days when they already have practice. 

It's more compromise than he wants, but it, too, helps. 

* * *

Hiyori would recognize the signs of imminent tests even if he wasn't feeling the pressure himself. The library is more full, common areas sing with a mild tension. Some of the team members are quieter or grumpier than usual. It's particularly noticeable in Terashima, and Hiyori tries to keep his head down and stay out of his way. 

That only works until he manages to mess up the exchange between him and Ikuya twice in a row. 

"Nope!" he hears Terashima call loudly as he dives. He hits the water slightly awkwardly and stops his momentum. Ikuya's a few feet away, up against the side. 

"Sorry," Hiyori calls, and then turns to Terashima. "I wasn't early that time, was I?" he asks. 

"No, you were like half a second _late,_ " Terashima says, waspish. "You can do better than that, dude, come on." 

"It's better than a false start," Sagae says mildly. "You didn't have to interrupt him for it." 

"It's a bad habit," Terashima insists. "That exchanges have always been solid so far. We shouldn't drop that standard now." 

"I got sloppy," Hiyori says, still treading water so he doesn't get too close to Ikuya at the side. "Sorry. Should we skip to the next set?" 

"Or Kirishima could do the run-up again so you can fix it," Terashima counters. 

Hiyori winces at that—Terashima's usually on good enough terms with Ikuya that he uses his first name, which doesn't say much for his mood. 

"I'm fine with that," Ikuya says, "if you think it'll help." He's looking at Hiyori in question, and Hiyori shrugs. 

"I can try," he says, and Ikuya shrugs and makes his leisurely way to the other end of the lane so he can kick off. Hiyori clambers out of the pool and stands, dripping, on the starting block. 

He thinks he hears Terashima mutter something, but doesn't catch it. There would be no point in getting offended by it, even if he had; he probably deserves it on some level anyway. 

He's very careful this time, and pulls the exchange off decently well; but something's off about his rhythm from the start, the breaths and the strokes not syncing up right, and he doesn't need Terashima's glare when he returns to know that it's a poor excuse for a sprint, especially as the anchor. 

There's not much time after that till cool-downs and the end of practice, but he still follows the impulse to catch Sagae on the way out and ask him to apologize to Terashima on his behalf. 

"What? No, dude, don't worry about it," Sagae says. "I should be the one apologizing to you. Kotarou gets like this sometimes—but he'll have forgotten by next week, you'll see. It's just stress." 

"It is a pretty stressful time of year," Hiyori says, trying his best to sound quietly sympathetic. 

"You're telling me," Sagae says, sighing dramatically. "I know it'll all be back to normal in like two weeks, but damn. I feel like last term wasn't so bad—they must've been going easy on us." 

"Yeah," Hiyori agrees. "It'll be nice when midterms are over." 

"Right? Maybe I'll start joining in on Kirishima's practices again, too." Sagae chuckles. "And drag Kotarou along, if he's still welcome. After tests, he's always got a ton of energy to burn." 

"He will be," Hiyori says, pleased. "You both will. I'll let Ikuya know—he'll be happy to hear it." 

He tells Ikuya, and Ikuya seems pleased, but troubled, too. Hiyori follows him back to the dorms, quiet, but something compels him to speak up. He can't help it; he can't seem to control where his brain goes lately, and when he's tired enough, apparently, his mouth follows his brain. 

"Are you worrying about something? You seem preoccupied."

Ikuya gives him a long look. "Not really." 

"Are you sure?" With Ikuya, especially when he's like this, there's usually something. There's usually something in general; Ikuya's a person with something going on in the depths of his mind all the time, unlike Hiyori, who can only find anything in himself when it's reflected from someone else. 

"About practice today..." Ikuya begins, and Hiyori's heart sinks. He'd wondered, with Ikuya's reluctance, whether this was about him. But at least that means he's prepared, now. 

"Yeah," he says, tries to laugh it off. "That was...kind of annoying, huh. Sorry you had to deal with it." 

Ikuya shakes his head, blows out a breath, exasperated. "Don't worry about it." 

"Thanks," Hiyori says. "But you know...I've been thinking. About the relay." 

Ikuya stiffens a bit, and some part of Hiyori senses danger. He's pushing something, though he's not really sure what. "What about it?" 

He blurts it out, before he can second-guess himself. "I think you should be the anchor." 

Ikuya frowns, but doesn't object right away. 

"I mean, if it's just us switching," Hiyori continues. "We should talk about it with the others, obviously, but...you're getting stronger all the time. You're a better choice than me, at this point. Though if Terashima wants to try instead, you'd also be a strong starter..." 

"You're fine as the anchor," Ikuya says. 

"I've done okay, all things considered," Hiyori evades, "but maybe a different combination would work better. And...I mean, you've been handling the exchange with Sagae just fine, so I doubt you'll have much trouble exchanging with anybody anymore. There's no time like the off-season to try it, right?" 

Ikuya shrugs. "You don't have anything to worry about," he says, more plainly. "Kotarou was just wound up and taking it out on us." 

In a way, though, that's exactly the problem, Hiyori thinks. Terashima had found an obvious weakness to jump on—and that weakness had been _him_. 

"Yeah, things have been busy lately," Hiyori agrees. "Speaking of which—how's studying going? Did you want to come over to work on things, or...?" 

Ikuya shakes his head, looking regretful. "No, the literature essay is kicking my ass," he says. "I need to really focus to get through it." 

Hiyori winces, sympathetic—the sooner each of them were out of their general ed requirements, the better. Ikuya struggled a bit with abstract writing, anything where he didn't have concrete facts and figures to back him up. He tended to go through a lot of drafts before he was happy with the result. "I can look at your draft when you're ready," he offers. 

Ikuya darts him a grateful glance. "Thanks," he says. "It might not be till tomorrow, or late tonight." 

"That's fine," Hiyori says, concerned for him. The essay's due in a few days, so that's pretty down to the wire—for Ikuya, anyway. Hiyori's barely started his assignment for the same class, but he tends to sit down and write papers like that all at once, with only a quick pass for errors before he hands them in. "Don't stress too much about it, okay? You'll do fine." 

Ikuya makes a face. "What are you working on?" 

Hiyori makes a light-hearted face of his own. "Math review." 

"Right, that's on Thursday," Ikuya grumbles under his breath, running his fingers through his hair. "I've barely even thought about it." 

"You'll do fine," Hiyori says, nudging him a bit. Ikuya gives him a small, grateful smile. Something jumps happily in his chest, and everything is all right again. 

Still, it's also a sign that Ikuya's been feeling the pressure, too, even if he hasn't been obvious about it, and that's the thought that sticks as Ikuya waves good night and goes back to his room. 

It's still hard not to feel guilty. Hiyori probably _should_ feel guilty, really. This is the last sort of time he should be letting himself slip, draw attention to himself or falling short. He's always been good at pretending everything is fine—admittedly, because often it's only been his imagination telling him otherwise—but lately, he has the bizarre urge to do the opposite. Out of nowhere, he's filled with an awful temptation to sabotage everything he's wanted for years and years—to yell and rage and complain and just _give up_. He can't take his eyes off the awful, impossible idea that he's about to ruin everything, undo all the progress he's made and make everyone who's been so kind to him wish they'd never met him. 

He's so tired. 

He digs a book out of its hiding place out of desperation, just to stave off the silence, and it takes far too long to admit to himself that reading for fun is the opposite of what he needs to be doing. 

He's managed about twenty minutes of real study when his phone buzzes, and a draft of Ikuya's essay appears. He can't really ignore that, and anyway, it's easier to dive into the words than it is to face his own inadequacies. He can immediately see why Ikuya's been struggling with it—he's got a big tangle of ideas that he's trying to introduce all at once, probably more than the length requirement actually allows for. Hiyori goes through and makes some comments, color-codes the different threads of Ikuya's argument, and writes some alternate outlines at the end of the document. Some of the options he gives him are a lot of work, but Ikuya can be a perfectionist, so he's assuming that Ikuya wants to do the best job possible. He leaves him some easier options too, though, just in case. 

By the time he looks up again, it's edging well into morning, and his own work still isn't done. He should give up, but he can't—Ikuya can't find out he'd put off working to help Ikuya first. Besides, he's finally in a mood to work, on the other side of tiredness and trepidation and so much noise inside his head. It's a rare opportunity, and he wants to take advantage of it. So he finishes the studying he's doing, though part of him is convinced he's not going to remember any of it, and writes his own, messier draft of the essay. Then, once that's coming along nicely, he digs into the philosophy reading he'd been putting it off, and it actually makes sense again for the first time in a few days, which is gratifying.

At one point, out of desperation or maybe just numb stupidity, he messages Kinjou again, too. 

_You've got a point,_ he says, and then, because he picked up the fairytale book again on impulse recently, _I don't think the Steadfast Tin Soldier actually has a moral. What about you?_

He's not really expecting a reply. The whole point was probably to get one up on Hiyori, to make him feel bad about himself and sabotage his relationship with Ikuya for whatever reason, and the fact that Kinjou's given up might even be a good sign, a hint that he's given up, that 

And yet...if this is the end of their conversations, then a small, irrational part of him is sad to see Kinjou go. It's amazing how _pleasant_ people can be, when they're on different sides of a conflict and decide to get along, regardless. 

By morning, the cold of his night has sunk into his bones, but getting through midterms seems possible again, and he's finally tired enough that he's past the fear. With any luck, that feeling will last through the morning. 

His equilibrium is shaken only for a moment by a message that Sam sends him a little before noon. 

_Hey, we're going out a week from Saturday to celebrate the end of midterms. I know you've been busy lately, but do you think you can make it?_

Stress seizes him out of nowhere for one second, two, and then he takes a deep breath, and the calm comes back, along with a decision. 

_Sure,_ he answers. _I've missed you guys._

While he's at it, he messages Kisumi to promise he'll be back to basketball circle, too. 

He's pushed things too far with too many people lately, he decides. He's going to stop being a problem. He's going to stay at Ikuya's side and do whatever's necessary to help him be safe. He's going to find ways not to blow off the people who have been kind enough to include him, who make him feel like he belongs in a group for the first time in his life. He's going to keep things civil with Kinjo, and he's going to keep on top of his own problems so he's not a burden to anyone. 

He's sick of letting everyone down. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am playing fast and loose with Japanese university schedules here. They seem to vary quite a bit, depending on the school. In terms of the general academic year, though, the second term usually starts sometime around August (the school year starts in April), and then there's a break running from right around Christmas through the first week or so of January, with finals afterward at the end of the month. Apparently some schools will break this down into smaller "terms" and call each round of tests "finals"...but oh well, this is a fictional university so I'm doing what I want.
> 
> * * *
> 
> I'm aware that this is a pretty slow chapter, so this may be a weird place to put this, but...well, I also ended up writing out a lot more about this story than I could fit in an author's note. It has some of my own interpretations of Hiyori in canon, an out-of-character discussion of what's been going on in the story (and why), and my feelings about this fic in general. It's long, kind of personal in places, and not at all necessary to understand what's going on...if I'm doing my job right, anyway. ;P
> 
> But I figured hey, meta is fun, and also I read fic and I'm interested in this sort of thing sometimes. If you're curious about why I feel like all this angst is necessary, the post is over [here](https://kinosternon.tumblr.com/post/616335638428631040/cscg-behind-the-scenes-1).
> 
> Please stay safe, everyone. Thanks for sticking with me. ♡


	15. Spill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which keeping promises is neither always wise nor always sufficient. 
> 
> (See content warnings in the Chapter Notes if you're so inclined!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some actual plot in this chapter! It ran long and ended up having to cut it short earlier than I originally intended, so if the ending seems a bit abrupt, that's why.
> 
> Definitely some **content warnings** this chapter, too. Not new ones this time around, but to be safe I've got more detailed ones in the end notes.

Midterms go about as well as could be expected, and for once, Hiyori snaps back into place. Between eating, sleeping, studying, and practice, there isn't much time to worry about much of anything, and he occupies himself with Ikuya in the downtime. Ikuya, unlike him, keeps up with practice on top of studying, and while he's busy, he's also in his element. 

He even does better at practice. Terashima seems surprised when he recommends switching up the swimming order, but he's happy enough to try being the anchor. They experiment with a few different orders, and Ikuya seems to be performing well as a starter. Sagae's got a gift for taking a lead and expanding it, so he stays second, which leaves Hiyori at third. 

Ikuya complains that starting doesn't let him improve his exchanges, but Hoshikawa overhears that and asks if he'd like to start joining some additional relay events next term. Ikuya promises to think about it. That gives them all something to talk about that isn't midterms or each others' times, which is a nice change of pace. 

Ikuya also keeps pushing other people to join him in his extra practice sessions, all but glued to the schedule he's made on his phone after each club meeting. He happily shows Hiyori his filling schedule. "You won't have to come along every time this way," he says. "You can go study or whatever." 

"I'm not planning to do that as much once midterms are over," Hiyori reminds him, but Ikuya shrugs. 

"Still," Ikuya says, shrugging. 

By the practice on Friday night, Ikuya's restless from being stuck inside with his nerves for so long, and seems delighted at a chance to exercise. Hiyori feels exhausted physically as well as mentally, but he gets through practice all right, mostly staying out of the way. With tests finally out of the way, some more of the team members are willing Ikuya up on his offer. A couple of them come up to him on their own, asking to see his schedule and join some of his practice sessions. Hiyori, to one side, is happy on his behalf. 

When Ikuya's able to extricate himself, they go to the dining hall for a late dinner. Ikuya seems relaxed and at ease, stretching his arms over his head and slumping down where they sit in the dining hall. 

"How were your tests today, anyway?" Hiyori asks. "I know you were worried about that literature test." 

"It was okay, I think," Ikuya says. "I might've made some mistakes, but at least I was able to answer everything. How about you? Any tests you're worried about?" 

More of them than he wants to admit, but... "Not really." He gets more nervous over tests than his grades warrant. He probably did fine, and if he didn't, he'll deal with it at some point. 

"Hmm. That's good, then." Ikuya looks over at him. "I'm just glad it's over with. Hopefully they'll let us coast from now until winter break." 

Hiyori agrees, but it doesn't really feel like as much of a break as he wants. He filled up this weekend with all the people he's blown off these last few weeks, and he's excited to see them again, but... 

"I'm going over to Hidaka to hang out tomorrow," Ikuya tells him. "Do you want to come along?" 

Hiyori shakes his head. "You go ahead." Knowing Ikuya, he'll want to get going early, and Hiyori doesn't want to slow him down, just as much as he _really_ wants to sleep in for the first time in a week. Besides, at this point, he barely wants to see the people he likes, much less Nanase or Shiina...or even, at this point, Makoto. He doesn't _dislike_ him, exactly—Makoto's impossible to dislike once you get to know him—but somehow, he's one of the last people Hiyori wants to see right now. 

He drags himself back to his dorm, and goes more or less straight to bed. He checks his messages before drifting off, out of habit, and frowns when he sees a new message from the last person he wants to see. 

_interesting that you're avoiding the question._

_how long are you going to keep hiding?_

Hiyori sighs loudly at his ceiling, even as his stomach churns.

_There is nothing interesting enough about me to justify making this much of an effort, _he writes, and sends the message before his frustration can lose against his cowardice. After all, he's got no excuse about this anymore; he can't just keep letting Kinjou slide.__

He's halfway asleep before his phone buzzes beside him, and he curses himself as he opens it up. 

_I think we both know that's not true._

Hiyori stares up at the ceiling, waiting for another reply. It's hard to drift off after that, but he manages. He has the feeling that he slept poorly, waking through the night with imagined messages and forebodings buzzing in his head. He checks his phone to find that he only imagined them and rolls over every time, annoyed with himself, buzzing with pointless anxiety. 

He does, indeed, sleep in on Saturday. When he finally gets up, it's late enough that he feels gross until he stumbles down to the shower. The silence is buzzing in his ears, but he's too tired to really notice it or let it bother him. 

Following an indistinct hunch, he gives himself a lot of time to get to where he needs to go, getting his change of clothes ready, packing a small day bag with everything he needs for a night out, tidying up his post-test mess as he goes. He's not efficient about it, but at least he's moving. 

He eventually gets out the door wearing the right clothes, carrying all the right things, with a book thrown in for good measure. He misses the bus he'd wanted anyway, and pulls out a book to keep himself entertained, getting so lost in it that he almost misses the second bus. 

He buries it deep in his bag when he finally arrives. He wants nothing more than to dive back into the pages, but that's not very conducive to basketball. 

It's nice to hang out with Kisumi and the others again, which is good, because his playing is mediocre at best. He feels disconnected with his feet, like they move differently than he expects them to. It probably doesn't help his coordination that all that athletics he's done the past few weeks have happened in water.

It should feel easier to move around in empty air, but his limbs feel oddly weighted, gravity a hassle that he's no longer accustomed to. It's a relief when the first game ends and he can plop down on the sidelines, feeling his sides heave as he looks up at the chilly sky. 

He wants his book, but he's supposed to be here to hang out with people. It would be weird to get it out, he figures, and closes his eyes, breathing deeply and feeling the thuds of the ball on the other side of the court through the concrete, echoing in his bone. 

He realizes, out of nowhere, that he's cold. And stiff, when he tries to move, and things around him aren't where he left them a moment ago. There's still a rhythmic thudding through the ground, but the footfalls and sounds around him are different. He goes still instinctively, trying to get a grasp on what's going on before he's noticed. 

He pushes himself up on his elbow and the world shifts and clicks suddenly into place: he must have fallen asleep, on the ground, while resting between games. He's...not really sure how that happened. It doesn't feel comfortable enough for that, now that he's awake. He's also not sure how he didn't wake up when it was over. Did nobody wake him? 

It's not so bad, though, to sit in place and watch the people playing, wrapped up in his coat. There's another coat spread across his legs, he realizes, and a moment later recognizes it as Kisumi's. He feels himself going red as he lifts his knees to huddle up, but he doesn't take it off. 

He's left to his own devices as the game plays out; nobody asks him if he wants in on the rotation, and he doesn't ask. It's...oddly nice, to know he's welcome on the sidelines, too. Even in the midst of the noise, it's peaceful. 

Kisumi's game ends first, and Hiyori can tell by the way he's playfully pouting that he lost. He doesn't seem bothered, though, laughing with the others for a bit before loping over. "Hey, Hiyori. Catching up on your beauty sleep?" 

"Not intentionally," Hiyori admits, reaching for Kisumi's coat to return it. 

Kisumi waves his hand. "Nah, keep it, I'm still overheated." He plops down next to Hiyori, staring up at the sky. "It's really nice out today, huh?" 

"Yeah," Hiyori says. "It is." 

Kisumi's gaze slides over to him, but when he turns, he's already scanning the court again. "Gonna have to try to book one of the indoor courts eventually," he says. "The guys are already trying to figure out when that should happen." 

"Not for a little while longer, I'd guess," Hiyori says. 

"Sure, but it gets cold sooner here than back home," Kisumi says. "Gotta be prepared." 

Hiyori nods. "That makes sense." 

Kisumi nods, and wraps his arms around his knees. 

"Are you sure you're not cold?" Hiyori asks. 

Kisumi gives him an assessing look. "I think you need it more than I do," he says. 

Hiyori shrugs, huddles in further—more from embarrassment than cold, because Kisumi's not wrong. "I...thanks." 

"Have you been sleeping okay?" 

The question catches Hiyori off-guard. "More or less?" 

"Okay." Kisumi gestures at his own face. "You still look a little tired, that's all." 

"Huh. Maybe it's just my face." Hiyori rubs at it under his glasses. "And I guess tests were harder than I was expecting, too." 

"Tell me about it," Kisumi agrees. "I thought my brain was going to melt out of my ears." 

"Same." Hiyori nods at the court. "The fresh air helps with that." 

"It really does." 

They're talking in circles. Kisumi's made the effort of coming over to talk to him, so maybe he should be saying something more interesting, but he has no idea what it should be and he's still too groggy to work very hard to figure it out. He takes a few breaths, instead, watching the others move around. 

"You..." Kisumi stops, and gives Hiyori a long look when Hiyori turns to look at him. "You're kind of hard to read, but like. I know you said you'd come today, but like...I don't want you to feel obligated, or anything, so..." 

Hiyori looks at Kisumi for a long moment, taken aback. "What?" he says. "No, sorry, I'm just...I don't know, spacing out. I like coming out here. You know that, right?" 

"Yeah. Yeah, you've said." Kisumi shrugs. "You seem a little...distant, that's all." 

"I'm not doing it on purpose," Hiyori says, but as he says it, he knows that Kisumi is right. Even the guilt feels a little far away, unreal. "I'd rather be here than elsewhere." 

"Good," Kisumi says, but he seems uncertain. Hiyori wishes he could shake off the weird feeling in his bones, the distant stillness that won't quite let him think. Kisumi's right beside him, but feels very far away. Everything feels far away. 

"I was going to come over here anyway," he offers. "Sam wants me to go to a party." 

"Oh," Kisumi says, "right. He invited me to that, too." 

Hiyori smiles. "Nice. Are you going?" 

"Not this time," Kisumi says. "I promised I'd hang with Asahi and everyone later. Will you be okay, though? You seem tired, and it hasn't even started yet." 

Hiyori shrugs. "Well, now I've had a nap, so that should help," he jokes, and then pauses, looking at his phone. "Although...ah, Sam wanted me to come over a little early, so I should probably get going soon." 

"Oh yeah?" Kisumi doesn't seem bothered by him backing out, thankfully. 

"I don't really know how to prepare for something like this, but he said he wanted to meet up beforehand for some reason." 

"Well, good luck," Kisumi says, and there's humor in his voice, but it's good-spirited. "Thanks for coming to hang out, I'll see you around." He stands up, dusts himself off. "You can leave the coat on my bag when you're done with it," he says, and goes jogging off again. 

Hiyori watches as the next game starts up, grateful for a little longer to wait for whatever he's feeling—gratitude and guilt, maybe, he can't keep track anymore—to loosen its grip on him. 

Then, with a little extra time to spare, he starts looking for Sam's dorm building. 

* * *

"Come in, it's open!" 

There's music, loud and peppy, coming faintly through the door of Sam's dorm before Hiyori opens it, male and high-pitched and very much in English; when he does, it goes spilling merrily out into the hallway, and Hiyori has to stop himself from looking around to see if anyone else has heard, slipping inside quickly and shutting the door behind him. 

"You're just in time!" Sam says, and pops out from around a hallway, face covered in some sort of spa mask. "Unless you also wanted to do skincare stuff, in which case you're running late. Do you?" 

"...No," Hiyori says, because that seems like a reasonably safe answer to that question, and he's still just trying to get his bearings. He steps through a small common area that's overflowing with what looks like multiple people's things scattered around in various piles, catches a glimpse of a kitchenette with a mostly empty sink but a crowded countertop, and follows Sam into a room that' s been subjected to similar levels of chaos. 

"Just put your stuff down anywhere," Sam says, and from the way everything's laid out it seems very unlikely that he cares much where Hiyori would put anything. Obediently, he finds a relatively empty corner and sets down his bag. Sam's phone alarm goes off, and he hops up to turn it off. "Hang on, I just have to go wash this off. You can start getting ready if you want." 

Hiyori makes a noise of agreement as Sam slips past him in the narrow room, presumably off to a sink somewhere. He'll probably be back soon, so Hiyori waits on actively changing clothes, instead looking around. 

Sam's dorm is laid out a little differently than he's used to; apparently he shares a common area and bathroom with a handful of other students. Hiyori wonders if they're all foreigners, too.

Sam's room, upon closer inspection, really is a study in barely-controlled chaos. There is more clothing spread on the furniture, or bunched up on the floor, than there seems to be in his closet. There's a shelf of books, in English and Japanese, as well as piles elsewhere, magazines and flyers and textbooks stacked with no apparent rhyme or reason. One of these has been turned into some kind of makeup table, a paper towel over tubes and tubs of cosmetic. Hiyori eyes these a little dubiously. He's starting to wonder what Sam had in mind, exactly—he's been to parties, gone out with friends, but this is more preparation than he's considered. 

Sam comes back looking fresh-faced and grinning. "Sorry about the mess," he says. "So, do you want to get dressed first, or what? You could probably pop into our shower if you need to, it looks like you were just working out." 

"I was at Kisumi's basketball circle," Hiyori says, "but no, I'm good. Didn't end up playing much." 

"Oh yeah?" Sam sits down. "I didn't quite feel like going, so I decided to go full spa instead. How is he?" 

"Good, I think." He's honestly not sure; he's never had much luck picking up on Kisumi's mood, other than "cheerful." 

"That's good," Sam says, and goes over to small makeup station. "Do you have everything you need to change? I'm gonna be busy over here for a bit, I won't peek if you want to doit in here." 

"Sure," Hiyori says, and he does. He's used enough to locker rooms that it's not so big of a difference, though having someone bent in front of a mirror, poking himself in the face with brushes and sponges and other tools Hiyori doesn't recognize, does lend something different to the atmosphere. 

He looks over a few minutes later to see Sam putting on the finishing touches. If he hadn't seen him putting it on, Hiyori might not have realized there was a difference, but his face looks _clearer_ now, somehow—the lines more sharply defined, coloration more uniform. And there's a glimmer at the corners of his eyes and lips that subtly draws the eye.

Hiyori gestures at his face. "Your makeup looks great." 

"Oh." Sam smiles, a little shy. "Thanks. I don't have a lot of experience with it, really." 

"Really? I wouldn't have guessed that." 

"Quit flattering me," Sam says, grinning. "Do you want any? I could probably cobble something together that matches your skin tone." 

Hiyori eyes the small stack of materials, but between the time and the odd feeling in his stomach at the idea he knows his answer. "Hmm. Got anything to make someone look less tired?" 

Sam chuckles. "Do I _ever_." 

A few minutes and some industrious mixing later, Hiyori's trying not to let his hands shake as he smudges pigment under his eyes, squinting at his reflection. He tries to rub out the edges where the shift is most obvious, and then turns to Sam. "How's this?" 

Sam gives him a thumbs-up. "Looks good!" 

"Thanks," Hiyori says. "People seem to think I'm tired a lot recently, even though it's just my face." 

"I used to say that about myself, too," Sam says. 

"What, that it was just your face?" It's hard to tell under the makeup, as Hiyori eyes him curiously. "Was it not?" 

"It kind of was, but getting more sleep helped too." 

Hiyori shoots him a look in the mirror, and Sam lifts his hands placatingly, smiling wide. "Hey, no judgment! I'm saying I've been there." He gestures at the kit beside him. "Anything else you want to add?" 

"Nah, I'm good. I appreciate the offer, though." 

"Okay, then at least let me play with your hair?" Sam steps forward, looking up at it with a worryingly hopeful expression. 

Hiyori take a step back without thinking about it. "My hair is fine." 

"Okay. Well, you don't have to." Before Hiyori can wonder too much whether he's disappointed him, Sam is looking over the rest of his outfit, smiling. "You look good. That's a nice outfit." 

"Thanks." Hiyori doesn't exactly pay much attention to fashion, but he tries to notice trends, to buy something that matches what he sees in magazines when he bothers to shop. He doesn't have enough charisma to ignore the importance of a decent wardrobe. 

Ikuya, on the other hand...

He probably shouldn't think about it too much, because he doesn't think Ikuya cares all that much about dressing up, would probably feel about as uncomfortable as Hiyori did if he were asked. But Ikuya's skin gets chapped sometimes, especially during the harsh parts of winter, and he conditions his hair carefully to protect it from damage but doesn't otherwise bother with much styling. 

It's not difficult, with Sam's example in front of him, to imagine the ways Ikuya could dress up, go from looking slim to slender, with clothes that hang off him in the right places, hair artfully styled and framing his face in soft waves, glowing skin with the faintest tint of color accentuating his bottom lip...

Hiyori cleans up decently well, he supposes. But Ikuya, if he wanted, could easily become the most beautiful person in the room. 

He makes himself stop thinking about it—Ikuya's fashion choices really aren't any of his business—and sees Sam stride across the room and pick up his phone. And then step away and go still, bent over it, seemingly lost in thought. 

He looks away to give him privacy, goes over to the mirror to tug his hair into something a little less flyaway and more intentional. Once he's more or less pleased with it, he turns again, but Sam hasn't moved. A longer peek reveals that he isn't typing or anything, and Hiyori waits another minute, two. There's no sign of motion, and he's starting to get worried. 

"Sam?" 

There's another long pause, and then Sam smoothly thumbs his phone off and puts it in his pocket. "Sorry," he says. "I got distracted." He looks over at Hiyori. "I think I'm about ready to go. You wanna leave your stuff here?" 

"No, I'll keep my bag with me," Hiyori says. "Thanks, though." 

They leave together and meet meet up with the group—people from the book club, and a couple of extra people Hiyori doesn't recognize—outside one of the gates to the campus. There's a short bus ride, and then they take a train the rest of the way downtown. The group talks amongst themselves, trying to stay out of the way of people getting on and off the crowded trains, but there's enough foreigners that no one feels the need to go entirely quiet. Hiyori mostly watches, too wary of annoying other passengers; to his surprise, Sam does the same, not too far away from him, eyes distant as they go over the landscape of the city, then watching the walls pass underground with the same expression. 

It's an oddly closed look, for him. Hiyori doesn't really know how to approach it. 

By the time they arrive at their destination, though, Sam's back to his usual, energetic self, leading the way to the _izakaya_ where they'd booked a reservation. He's a small, bright spark darting through the crowds of salarymen and dark-haired partiers, hair a more golden brown than the orange and grayish and sandy dye jobs around him. Tiff's another brightly-colored beacon where she keeps close to Emi, and between them the others can wend their way through the crowds, stopping to peer into store windows or point out billboards without any fear of losing track of each other. 

Aside from the primping and extra preparation beforehand, it doesn't seem very different so far from the other outings he's been on, and the familiarity is nice. 

They settle in at their table, ordering in groups and sipping at the drinks the people who were of age ordered. Hiyori sticks with soda for the moment, wary of pushing his luck at a restaurant and at the possibility of a long night ahead of him. He watches as Sam breezes through an _umeshu_ and then a Calpis sour like it's nothing. They loosen him up a bit, melting a stiffness Hiyori only recognizes in its absence; his laughs became a little bit more generous and full, and he pipes up without thinking, only to stumble over himself. His Japanese has gotten more fluid, but sometimes it's worse than Hiyori remembers. A few weeks feel like longer than he would have thought. 

It's surreal, even after a few weeks of quiet study, to be surrounded by people who are laughing and joking and getting along with each other. He's lost the rhythm, or at least his comfort with being out of step with everybody else. 

After their time at the _izakaya_ , they start getting their things together, haggling out the tab between them all and paying and making their way to the first place Sam recommends. He's got the night planned out, and will explain to anyone who asks or even seems vaguely interested. That level of involvement and planning seems exhausting, but Hiyori doesn't mind being the one who pulls up a map to double-check Sam's instructions. 

They stay at the first bar for a little while, drinking and laughing. The second is a club with a dance floor, and Hiyori quickly finds a corner to avoid dancing, and just as quickly Tiff gives him a look and Emi gives him a remarkably effective pep talk paired with guilt-inducing gaze, and Hiyori goes. He doesn't know the first thing about dancing, so he just tries to copy whoever's near him. He's got enough kinetic awareness to at least be making an effort, but he's pretty sure he looks ridiculous. 

Tiff doesn't—she's having too much fun for that. Sam _definitely_ doesn't—he dances by himself with plenty of enthusiasm, and the way he moves his hips has Hiyori occasionally looking away, embarrassed. It shouldn't look...good, exactly, because it's easy to guess that he has no clue what he's doing. But it does. 

It's not until the third place they go to that Hiyori realizes that some of these places are for...well. Fine for people no matter who they're with. There's a pair of men going at each other in the corner of one of the places, quiet and out of the way but still visible from the main area of the bar. Once he's noticed that, he sees a pair of women at the bar, one's hand on another's knee, head bent together in a clearly intimate conversation. 

Sam doesn't hesitate to drag him to the dance floor this time. "Come on," he says, mumbling a little from the drinks he's had at every place so far, teeth and eyes glinting in the low light, and Hiyori can't bring himself to say no. This place is active, enough people with the lights low that no one's looking at him. 

He wouldn't have thought he was capable of liking a place like this, and honestly, he's not entirely sure that _like_ is the right word. But it's _fascinating_ , and he feels himself so curious about everyone that is here. He doesn't feel like he fits in here, but he can imagine it, somehow—can pretend that someday, if he got used to talking to people his age, if he was braver and friendlier and everything didn't scare him, he might actually come here by himself, know people, ask someone to dance. 

It's probably the couple of drinks he _has_ had at this point that inspire him to imagine Ikuya dancing next to him, closing his eyes to half-mast, and enjoying the atmosphere. 

By the time they leave that last place, Sam is giggling and stumbling against him, and he puts an arm around his shoulder. Part of him is aching, an odd feeling of happiness with something less pleasant and more poignant mixed in. He's past the point of the fear he'd usually be feeling, past exhaustion, and only barely keeping an eye on the time to think about how he'll get home. 

He's got...friends, here. They don't care that he's a failure, that lately he's been failing at everything he's supposed to have figured out. They don't care that he's spent years pretending to be so many things he isn't, that he can barely even admit to himself what he _is_ , or what he's done, or what's happened to him. They don't even care that he's so much of a coward that some days it's all he can do to bring himself out into their company. 

He parts from Sam at the next place, sitting down at the bar and ordering another drink but watching fondly as he and Emi head for the dance floor—a smaller one, mostly Japanese people without any foreigners this time. Tiff stays next to him, making some small talk but mainly watching Emi with a faint smile on her lips. 

They stay together, a comfortable quiet between them. Hiyori absorbs the atmosphere and keeps an eye on Sam. He doesn't try to order another drink, to Hiyori's relief. Hiyori's starting to hit his own limits, and he wants both of them to come out of this without incident. 

Not that he doesn't think Sam can look after himself, but...well, maybe it's just Hiyori being himself. Maybe slightly unreasonable levels of concern is how he expresses friendship. That would be fine; by this point, he should be able to keep that within acceptable limits. But something in him is adamant that he needs to be keeping an eye on Sam right now

"How many more places are we going to?" Hiyori asks when Sam leads the slow return back the way they came, pushing sweaty bangs out of his face and smiling at him. 

"We're not going to run out," is all Sam tells him. Hiyori plugs his phone into his backup battery and sets an extra alarm for the last bus home. 

When they leave, the streets have been dark for a while, and there's a faint mist coming down—barely even enough to speckle Hiyori's glasses, but it limns the edges of any bright light, giving halos to the neon and LED signs in windows, making the harsh lights on the billboards overhead almost friendly. 

In his pocket, his phone buzzes. Hiyori feels that odd little prickle he's been getting more and more often now in the pit of his stomach as he pulls it out. 

The notification says only that there are three photo attachments, but the name over them gives him pause. He opens the message anyway, because he's at least one drink beyond the level of impulse control he'd need to be to consciously stop himself.

Three pictures.

It takes him a moment to recognize the first one; it's him and Sam after the poetry reading, a long shot of them leaning in close, talking. The second is Sam bundling him into a cab, that same night. It's either zoomed in, or taken from much closer than Hiyori is comfortable with. 

The third is—has to be—very recent. Sam, wearing what he's wearing now, dancing close enough to touch. There's a pair of men Hiyori doesn't know in the background, faces not in the shot, but very clearly male and equally clearly wrapped around each other. 

A message appears as he closes the photo. Startled, he almost drops his phone, and then stops short as he almost bumps into Sam. 

_does Kirishima know about this, then? wonder what he'd think_

The drizzle is suddenly exquisitely cold against his skin. He can see each individual fleck of moisture on his glasses, under the streetlight he's stopped against. They stand out against his phone as well, rainbow and unforgiving. 

Sam's stopped beside him, tugging at his sleeve. "Hiyori?" In the light that had seen so warm, he suddenly looks wan, eyes huge and expression serious. "Is everything okay?" 

Oddly, his lips feel numb. "I wonder if Naribusawa's swim team has a schedule on their website," he says, mostly accidentally. 

Sam gives him a cautious look. "...Why?" 

"Kinjou," Hiyori says, and then, realizing that Sam has no idea who he's talking about, "There's this guy who...doesn't like me very much. Looks like I'm going to need to start taking avoiding him more seriously." 

"Wait," Sam says, getting even closer. Hiyori can smell the alcohol on his breath, but his eyes are laser-focused. He looks _angry_. "Is it that terrible redhead?" 

Absurdly, Hiyori's thoughts immediately flash to Asahi, but then he remembers Rin Matsuoka, and the entire set of Mikoshibas, and, well... "You're going to have to be slightly more specific," he says. 

Sam isn't deterred. "Ugh, you know, the one with the..." A heavy-lidded, slightly deranged grin spreads on Sam's face; it looks ridiculous, but admittedly it gets the point across. He makes a disgusted face right after. "The _creepy_ one. Kisumi said you were having trouble with him a while ago. I had to back him up to make him go away." 

"At the poetry reading," Hiyori guesses aloud, heart sinking. 

Sam blinks. "You know, yeah, I'm pretty sure it was then." 

"Great," he says hollowly. That had probably been when Kinjou had first thought of this particular idea. Hiyori starts walking; they're going to lose the group if they stay in one place too much longer, and he's getting the crawling feeling that maybe that would be an even worse thing to happen than usual. After all, with his luck, Kinjou might still be around somewhere.

"Okay," Sam says, "So what's he doing?" 

"Following me around, apparently."

Sam leans into his space. " _What?_ " 

"We're going to lose the others," Hiyori says, and Sam picks up his pace, but he stays right at Hiyori's shoulder. 

"I'm not leaving this alone," he tells Hiyori bluntly. "Explain." 

Hiyori starts, falteringly, to explain how he and Kinjou know each other, and to try to explain (even though he technically still has no idea) why Kinjou has it out for him. They're interrupted when they arrive at the next club and have to pay the cover. Hiyori hopes Sam will forget after, but he doesn't seem deterred. Instead, he's stuck at Hiyori's side like a very insistent burr, looking angry.

"And then," Hiyori says, "there's these." He flips to the first picture and shows it to Sam. 

Sam stares at it, shoulders going tight, and up at him. "Seriously?" 

"I guess so." For a second, sure that Sam thinks he's overreacting, Hiyori tries for a shrug. "Like you said, creepy." 

"That's not just creepy, Hiyori. He seems dangerous." Sam looks grave. "Seriously, do you know what he wants? Is there anyone you can report this to?" 

"I don't think he's...dangerous, exactly." Hiyori tries to shake off the sensation of a fist in his shirt, of being swung around like a rag doll. "Kinjou is just...used to getting what he wants. I'm not quite sure what that is yet, though." 

"That's not just stalking, it's blackmail," Sam says, sounding outraged. "You have to talk to someone about this." 

"It hasn't gone that far," Hiyori says. "I irritate him, so he irritates me back, that's all. And it's not really surprising, when you think about it—I can be pretty annoying." 

"Don't _joke_ ," Sam cries, and grabs his arm. "I mean it, Hiyori. This is messed up. Do I have to tell Kisumi on you? Or Iku—”

" _Not_ Ikuya," Hiyori bites out. 

Sam blinks and lets go, trying and failing to hide guilt behind guileless, wide eyes. Hiyori gets the sense he knows he's gone too far, though. "No?"

"No," Hiyori says firmly. "Trust me. Ikuya finding out about this is the last thing I want. For all I know, this is going to turn out to be an elaborate scheme to get to _him_." 

Sam seems to take that seriously, thankfully, though Hiyori gets the sense that Sam doesn't believe it as much as Hiyori does. "Fine, whatever. But Hiyori, you have to do something about this. I mean it. I will look up anti-stalking measures for you, if you don't do it yourself. You should probably speak with your school's security, to start—” 

"Okay," Hiyori says, and his hands are suddenly on Sam's shoulders, pushing him away slightly. He almost flinches back when he realizes he's done it, but Sam doesn't seem deterred at all, leaning against his hands with eyes that have gone dark with determination. "Okay," Hiyori says, "you're drunk and overreacting. This is a problem, but it's _my_ problem. Come on, this is supposed to be a fun night out." 

"Sometimes things don't turn out the way we want," Sam says, voice tight. He looks close to tears, and angry, and it hits Hiyori that he's the one responsible for that. He's only seeing Sam for the first time in weeks and he's dragged him into this problem with him and is right on the edge of ruining his night. 

First Kisumi, and then Kinjou, and now this. He's ruining everything he comes near today. He should've stayed in with his book and not talked to anyone at all. 

"You're right, they don't," Hiyori says. "Look, can't I just...get us drinks? No more alcohol for you, I think, but some water or a soda or something?" 

"No." Sam glares at him, mutinous. "You can't just—”

"I'm serious," Hiyori says, "I need you to calm down. Please." 

It's enough to make Sam pause, at least briefly, but Hiyori can tell he's about to keep arguing. "I'm going to deal with this," he continues, "but not right now. I don't want to do this tonight, okay? I'm sorry I said anything." 

"I'm not," Sam says. "This isn't something you should deal with by yourself—" 

"Please don't." 

Hiyori's not even sure who's talking anymore. His mouth has run ahead of his brain and it's like he's hearing the words before he even thinks them. He feels his hands clench into fists as he tries to maintain control, hopes that he doesn't turn cruel like he has before. That's the last thing Sam deserves. 

"I appreciate that you're concerned," are the words that come next, "but you're not helping. I'm beginning to regret that I talked to you about this at all. Please stop trying to meddle, and let me deal with it." 

Sam goes very still and pale, as the words continue, and when, to Hiyori's relief, they start to wind down, he doesn't move. He looks just as tense as Hiyori feels, if not more, and though they're still surrounded by and loud music and chatter, it's pushed back by their own small, miserable silence. 

"Fine," Sam says, or Hiyori assumes he says, because he sees Sam's mouth move more than he hears it. He sees his bottom lip tremble, too, as well as the way Sam bites it straight after and turns away, striding unsteadily deeper into the club.

It takes Hiyori a moment to remember how to move. He takes one deep breath, two, three, but instead of bringing him back to earth, they make him feel more light-headed.

He takes a moment to make sure no one he knows is looking his way, and he then turns and walks back out the way he came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content warnings for this chapter:** homophobia, stalking, and threatened outing, along similar lines to what's shown up before in the story. Also, alcohol. 
> 
> Notes: 
> 
> \- _izekaya_ : basically a pub—a restaurant that serves a lot of alcohol and small dishes. For Americans, kind of like a TGI Fridays or something, I guess? 
> 
> \- _umeshu_ , Calpis sour—the former's made from plums, usually drunk on the rocks or with soda, and the latter is a vaguely yogurt-flavored drink (called Calpico in the US) mixed with some form of liquor. They're both very much on the sweet side. 
> 
> \- Some of my friends say that electronics don't work for them in dreams. I'm happy for them. I, on the other hand, occasionally have fake text conversations and get upset over fake social media threads in my dreams. People stress-dream differently, I guess.
> 
> * * *
> 
> That's all for notes! I also wanted to note that the next chapter is going to discuss some pretty **heavy themes** , so please be aware that that's coming. I'm going to include warnings, and I also want to include some very clear formatting for people who want to skip the worst of it. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	16. Overflow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One thing leads to another, and Hiyori's already too scattered to pick up the pieces on his own. 
> 
> (Pretty significant **content warning** this chapter, please check it out and stay safe!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Content warning** : this chapter includes (non-graphic) discussions of suicide. If you want a more thorough warning, I've included some context in the Notes at the bottom of the chapter. 
> 
> To avoid that particular bit, stop where the text is **bolded** the first time, and skip to where it's **bold again**. Alternatively, if off-screen character death is something you want to avoid entirely, you might want to nope out when Sam shows up and skip down to the first section break (the last third of the chapter or so). Either way, you won't miss anything essential to the plot.

Outside, it's quiet. Hiyori walks until he turns a corner, goes down a side street, and turns again, walking almost blindly. 

When he's fairly sure he's alone, he stops under the awning of a closed store, puts his head down, and pulls out his phone for something to pretend to look at, doing his best to calm his breathing. 

He's not sure why he snapped at Sam like that. He hasn't been sure about anything since he got Kinjou's message. He stares at it and tries to figure out what to do. 

He hasn't told Sam the whole of it, but this is definitely blackmail. Kinjou's going to go to Ikuya, or maybe to someone else on his swim team, and start spreading rumors. 

Actually, Kinjou going to Ikuya is probably the best-case scenario. It would be Hiyori's word against Kinjou's, then, and Hiyori's pretty sure Ikuya won't believe anything Kinjou says purely on principle. But the rest of the team...probably would. And even if they didn't right away, it wouldn't take very much to get the questions started, and that would be all it would take. Hiyori isn't sure he can lie well enough to deflect their attention. 

Hiyori sighs and shoves his phone back into his pocket, staring out at the street. If they find out that he hangs out with gay people, it's _really_ not going to be a big step to some assumptions he doesn't want them making. Though he could probably make a point about international relations, or something. The pictures are a little bit trickier, but...he could make it work. Theoretically, he should be able to deny and poker-face his way through it.

He could try badmouthing Kinjou right back, too. If he claimed he was being harassed, Ikuya would almost certainly back him up. Getting the security to keep Kinjou off campus isn't a terrible idea. He'll have to thank Sam for that later...

...After apologizing for what he just did. Hiyori sighs, scrubbing a hand through his hair. 

He really hadn't meant to do that. Sam had just been acting so...straightforward, ironically. Willing to go charging in and demand that everything be fixed and fair and above-board. Believing that Kinjou was a threat instead of a problem Hiyori should've figured out how to solve by now. Pretending that anybody _cared_ about these sorts of mind games, other than the people suffering from them. 

Hiyori is absolutely convinced that Kinjou would never take things this far unless he thought he had a way out of it. He doesn't know exactly what that would be, but it doesn't matter, because he stands to lose a lot more than Kinjou if he isn't careful about this. 

He stares down at the message for a long time, and sighs. 

_What do you want from me?_ he sends. 

There's a long pause. 

_I want you to choose._

Hiyori stares down at his phone. _What does that even mean?_

_watching you annoys me. you can't be Kirishima's lackey and a professional swimmer at the same time, and those people are just another distraction._  
_unless you've gotten tired of your first job and you want to be their pet instead. you sure seem to like their attention enough._

_My decisions don't have anything to do with you,_ Hiyori answers. _Why are you doing this?_

Hiyori can practically see Kinjou's smirk when he reads the reply: _because it's fun._

Hiyori growls at the pavement. Using the bar as a center point, he walks around each of the blocks nearby, straining his eyes in the low light. If he's still watching, Kinjou would probably see Hiyori before Hiyori could spot him, but Hiyori feels slightly better for trying.

 _Are you still here?_ he asks. 

_don't be stupid, I have better things to be doing. some of us care about keeping up with training_

Hiyori can't find any sign of Kinjou anywhere, and sighs. He probably isn't lying; it's getting late, and the station's pretty far, and the drizzle is starting to turn into a light rain.

 _If you try to pull something like this again,_ he messages, _I am going to talk to the authorities. Leave me alone._

 _ooh, scary. over two nights' worth of pictures?_  
_no point freaking out now, I already got what I wanted_  
_unless you've got even better proof you want to share? your new boyfriend is pretty cute._

_He also knows what you look like, and he isn't very happy with you. I would hope you would know better than to involve someone like that._

_we'll see._

Hiyori buries his phone deep in his pocket, pushing down anger, and starts to make his way home. He doesn't know what to do about the rest of it yet, but it should keep at least until morning. Besides, he's not sure he has it in him to think about much of anything at this point.

Some of the train lines have already shut down, but if he's willing to walk for a little longer and he hurries, there's a bus that will get him home. He's on his way there, trying to think constructively about what he can do, when his phone buzzes. 

He ignores it at first, but then it goes again, and Hiyori realizes it's ringing. He pulls it out, glaring at the screen, but it's not from Kinjou or Hiyori. 

It's Sam. Wincing, Hiyori looks at the time—he's been out here longer than he realized—and then answers the call. 

"—yori?" comes through immediately, quick and desperate. "Hiyori, it's Sam, are you okay?" 

"I'm fine," Hiyori says immediately. "I'm okay, sorry, I left a little while ago." 

"...Oh." There's a small burst of static on the other end of the line. "Are you going home?" 

"I was planning to leave, yeah." Unease prickles at the pit of Hiyori's stomach. "I figured the party would be over soon, anyway." 

"It is," Sam says. "It should have ended...maybe 20 minutes ago? Judging by the group posts." 

"Judging by...where are you?" 

"I'm..." Another sound. Hiyori thinks he recognizes it, suddenly; it sounds like a sniffle. "I'm not e-exactly sure?" 

Hiyori freezes, and the street around him falls ringingly silent. "Okay," he says, "are there any landmarks nearby?" 

"I-I didn't go far," Sam says. "I thought I could head for the station, but...my phone battery's not going to make it, and...I'm sorry, this is dumb, but..." 

He sounds like he's close to bursting into tears, if he isn't already there. "I'll come find you," Hiyori says immediately. "It's okay, all right? You're going to be fine. Tell me where you are, and I'll come to you." 

"Okay," Sam says, voice very small. "I'll message you." 

He hangs up, and a minute later Hiyori gets a ping with Sam's location. More efficient than asking a convenience store for their address, he supposes, which was going to be his suggestion. He turns around and makes his way back at a light jog. 

The streets are reaching a level of empty that has Hiyori on edge. It's not completely still, but even downtown, it empties out fast when the but eventually Hiyori turns a corner and Sam stands unsteadily from where he was crouched in a corner. 

"Good timing," Sam says, when Hiyori gets close enough. He's more composed than Hiyori had expected. "My phone died a couple minutes ago." He runs his hands up and down his arms and huffs out a breath that comes out in a faltering orange cloud under the street lamps.

Hiyori looks down at him, assessing. There's no room for concern in him in that moment, not anymore, only assessment. The cold seems to have done a decent job sobering Sam up, but his nails are dark in the low light against extremely pale skin. His lips are drawn back from his teeth in discomfort, his hair is in disarray, his face is pale, his makeup smudged. He's dressed for a party with a parka thrown in on top, not for wandering in the middle of a late fall night. 

Hiyori, when he looks at him, gets a feeling almost walking a tightrope, or crossing a river alone—broad and deep, with no one to hear a fall. It scares him. He wishes he weren't here. 

He steps forward, holds out his arms. "Hug?" 

Sam blinks, and then stumbles into him, and Hiyori takes the front of icy cold he seems to carry head-on. 

Something, Hiyori notes, is very, very wrong. He hadn't realized how wrong it is until this moment, but there is a solid body breathing and shivering under his arms, so at the very least, things are already improving from where they were. 

"What happened?" he asks over Sam's shoulder, soft enough to be ignored if he didn't want to hear it. 

"It's..." Sam took a long, unsteady breath. "A long story. Short version is, I'm a dumbass, though." He huffs, pulls away and looks Hiyori over. "The trains aren't running anymore, aren't they? I...don't know what to do," he admits.

Hiyori chuckles, hoping it isn't hollow. "Well, we're pretty far off-campus," he says. "It might be cheaper to find somewhere to wait until the trains start than it would be to call a cab." 

"Ugh," Sam says, and then, "I'll pay you back. Can we...I know this is asking a lot, but...no capsule hotel?" His voice gets small again. "I don't wanna be alone." 

"Okay," Hiyori says, and it's easy to agree, to work around the naked need in Sam's voice. "Okay. Twenty-four-hour diner, or karaoke?" 

And that's how they end up in a cheap, private karaoke booth at 3:30 on a Sunday morning, too-cheerful idols dancing back and forth on the screen and reciting canned lines about their latest albums because neither Sam nor Hiyori has the heart to put anything on. Sam, shameless, makes himself a coffee, and Hiyori settles for tea. 

"Oh my God," Sam gasps halfway through his cup, "I feel alive again." He doesn't sound sarcastic as he says it, either, and Hiyori just nods, doesn't know if it's wise to smile. 

"Feeling better, then?" he asks. 

"More or less. I can feel the hangover kicking in," Sam says, "so I'm gonna get more coffee, and pretend it isn't." He stands and leaves the booth, door shutting with a faint _click_ behind him, and Hiyori stares at the wall behind where his head had been and wonders, irrationally, whether he should try putting on a song. 

Sam's back before the thought is anything more than a vague buzz in the back of his mind. He's got two mugs of coffee this time, one in each hand, each a milky white. 

"Want any?" he asks, and then when Hiyori shakes head, says, altogether too cheerfully, "Okay, more for me." He starts downing one of his coffees before he even sits down.

Hiyori, across from him, fidgets, sips his tea, considers getting more. Can't decide whether it's worth it to ask, isn't sure if he can find the words even if he tries. He finds, a minute later, that he wants to ask anyway...though he needs to be delicate. The fact that he decided on Hiyori to reach out to makes him think that Sam might not have very many good alternatives.

"Sam...you don't really seem okay," he says. 

Sam is quiet for a long moment, and then sets his mug down and clasps his hands on the table, looking down at them. "I'm not, really," he says quietly. "Not tonight, at least."

**"Do you want to talk about it?"**

Sam sighs, scrubs his disastrous hair out of his eyes. "Do you want to know?" he asks. 

"I think I'd rather not imagine," Hiyori says, as mildly as he can manage, because he needs to know more than he's ever needed anything from Sam before, and it's a profoundly uncomfortable sensation. 

"I...lost someone," Sam says. The words fall from him awkwardly, flat. "A few years ago, this month. And I let it get me this year." 

"Lost," Hiyori murmurs, not quite daring it to be a question. 

Sam smiles bitterly. "He killed himself," he says, and the sound in the room seems to dampen. 

Hiyori is frozen. His eyes fall to the tabletop and stick there. He doesn't know what to say, doesn't know what can possibly be said, doesn't know how the moment can continue moving forward from here; is sure that at any moment, Sam is going to see he's responded wrong, is going to—

"It was...just after high school. I knew he was having a hard time, I'd guessed that much," Sam says. "But it was worse than that, so much worse, and I was just...I can't even say I didn't know. I just...knew he was dealing with more than I could help with, so I didn't even try. Nowhere near hard enough, anyway." 

Hiyori takes an absolutely silent breath, in his nose and out through his mouth. Sam isn't watching him, when he glances up; he's tracing his finger in a ring of coffee his unsteady hands had left beneath his mug, which is good, because if Hiyori had to look him in the eye he'd probably freeze again. 

"The thing is, I should have," he says. "Done something, I mean. Checked in more, or talked to someone. I was probably one of the people he was closest to at that point, even though we didn't really feel all that close. But I had my own stuff going on, I couldn't wait to get away, and I just...didn't." 

He rubs at his eyes. "Maybe nobody could. Or maybe someone could've, but it doesn't matter, because it ended the way it ended anyway. People say you need to let go of what you can't change and work on what you can. There's supposed to be hope in that, but...I can't let it go of this. Not completely." He glances up at him, pleading. "You know?"

"I'm sorry," Hiyori says, because he can't think of anything else that's safe to say. 

Sam smiles again, but this time it's small and crooked, a weak attempt at reassurance. "I'm mostly okay now," he says. "I haven't thought about it in a while. I try not to, really, but...his mom messaged me earlier today." 

Hiyori winces, remembering the moment that had likely happened. "That's...hard." 

Sam shrugs, not denying it. "She meant well. I know she worries...even though I sometimes wish she wouldn't."

Hiyori stays quiet for a while, trying to think of what to say. He has an inkling of what Sam might need, but he's terrified he's wrong. "Do...you want to tell me about him?" he asks, finally.

"Maybe," Sam says. And then, a moment later, he opens his mouth again and it's like a dam has burst, all the words tripping over each other on their way out.

It goes on for a while—stories and memories and explanations and even a few insults. Hiyori doesn't understand all of it—Sam's going too fast and it feels like there's a lot that he sort of glosses over—but that they both seem to realize that Sam just needs to get it _out_ ; the person listening barely even matters. 

So Hiyori listens. When cracks open up, he offers one-word responses, and then, later, slightly longer ones that echo what Sam's saying, and then the time comes when Sam is content to let the silence drift back in. 

Normally, this would be one of the scary times. But this time...this time, because Sam's been talking and not paying attention or expecting much from him, he's had time to think about what he'll say. So he waits and bides his time until a long enough opening appears, and then he speaks. 

"Sam..." he says, and then pauses. Takes a deep breath, forges on. "You've been pretty lonely over here, haven't you?" 

Sam looks at him, a bit quizzical, head tilted to one side. And then, very casually and calmly, he puts his arms on the table and his face in his arms and cries. 

Hiyori, distantly, as he scoots over and tries to figure out whether Sam needs presence or space, is sure that he's said exactly the wrong thing. But then Sam doesn't seem to move from that spot, either. There's no censure from him, no fear, no anger; he's simply mourning. Hiyori wants to put a hand on him, to tell him without his dangerous, unreliable words that he isn't alone. But Hiyori has also seen odd, frightening exchanges between the foreign students before, in Sam's circle of friends. One touches, the other flinches, or jumps, or yells, or leaves. It's another lonely thing. 

So instead, he simply sits close, but not touching, and listens to Sam cry. 

Eventually, Sam heaves one shuddering sigh, then, after another long pause, another. He scrubs his face, and looks up, forlorn. Hiyori's felt curiosity and fascination towards Sam before, and the sort of abstract adoration appropriate to cute things and people, and gratitude and nerves in equal measure. This feels like none of those. It's not a crush—or not one like Hiyori's ever felt—but it has him blurting out, "Can I hug you?"

Sam nods at the table, though he stays still as Hiyori approaches cautiously and wraps his arms around him, only relaxing when Hiyori's in a position to take his weight. He rests his head lightly against the ball of Hiyori's shoulder. 

"There are things...I never told him," he murmured. "I know this isn't supposed to be about me, but he's not here anymore, and I there are things I wish I'd talked with him about. There are things he died without ever knowing, and I will regret that for the rest of my life." 

Sam's words are soft, but so close to Hiyori's ear that he can't _not_ hear them; and Hiyori has the distinct, utterly irrational feeling that they weren't just for Sam, but were for Hiyori, too. 

**Sam sniffs again. "I'm sorry," he says. "You shouldn't have to deal with my problems, especially with everything you have going on."**

"No, I'm glad," Hiyori says, quick enough that his own fierceness surprises himself. "You shouldn't...you shouldn't have to be alone with this. You shouldn't have to hide it from everyone." 

"Thanks," Sam says, and ducks his head down further, against Hiyori's chest for closeness but also like he's a little ashamed. "Also, I...shouldn't have treated you the way that I did tonight. I'm sorry about that, too." 

Hiyori cocks his head, even though Sam can't see him. "Wait, what?" 

"I know you can fix your own problems," Sam says, by way of explanation. "It's not my job to force you, or to try to fix them for you. You had every right to get upset with me for pushing." 

Hiyori chuckles, surprised and a little bitter. "Maybe it's just the universe's way of getting even," he mutters. 

Sam pulls back a little now, giving him a sharp look. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asks, too casual. 

"I mean it was hypocritical of me to get mad at you for being overprotective," Hiyori says. "I've been about a hundred times worse." 

"Yeah?" Sam frowns a bit, looking surprised. Which...he would, Hiyori realizes. He and the rest of the book club are quite possibly the only people who know Hiyori who haven't seen him around Ikuya. Sam has no way of knowing what he's usually like.

The thought weighs heavy on him suddenly for some reason, so much so that he can hardly bear it. What would Sam think, seeing him that way? 

How can he even begin to explain what Ikuya means to him? 

"The guy from the poem," he says, because it's nonsensical, but he knows Sam will know what he means. "You've met him. He's...my best friend, but I'm not his. I made it my job to keep him..." He hates saying this, with what Sam just told him, but it's true. "Keep him as safe as I could." 

Sam sits back, turned towards him and clearly listening, so Hiyori takes his turn, tries to explain. It's a story that feels ridiculous as he says it, words clunky and not graceful at all: words that aren't enough, actions in a row that don't explain the way he feels about Ikuya, insufficient reasons for reacting the way he did and letting his obsession with one other person eat up as much of his life as he has. He has no justification for not leaving Ikuya more of a choice in things. He knows, now, that he should have done everything better, that he's probably hurt as much as he's helped, and that he's now little more than an outsider in Ikuya's life, a hanger-on who's outlasted his usefulness. 

Growing up, he'd managed independence pretty well—his parents had drilled that much into him early. He'd never wanted to be a problem or take attention he didn't need; he'd known that it was his job to look out for himself, because he could do it more efficiently than anyone else. But he'd jumped at the chance to make Ikuya the purpose of his life, and it had been easier to slip into the role of supporting him than it had been to find a reason to do anything at all for himself. 

And now he's messed himself up, and because Ikuya's stuck with him, there's a chance he'll get caught in Hiyori's mess as well. And Hiyori has new friends now, too, people he wants to care about, and yet all he's going to do if he isn't careful is burden them as well. He hasn't put in the effort over the years to stay a person worth befriending, and he's got so much work to do to catch up before he will be. 

He doesn't have words for how Sam is one of the first people who saw him outside of that, as someone else. Or for how Kisumi somehow managed to see that in him anyway, well before it had occurred to him to see it for himself. 

He doesn't say that part to Sam, though, even though he wants to. He keeps it to confessing his weird reverse dependence, the caretaking, the fear he can't let go of even now, when all it's doing is hurting him.

That's what struck him about Sam's story, really, the thing that's still horrifying him—just the echo of Sam's protective instincts seems so painful, Hiyori's own worst fears brought to light.

"I...I am _so sorry,_ " he says, eventually. He's not sure Sam knows why he's apologizing by now; he's not even sure what he's saying anymore. His voice as ragged as if he's actually been singing for hours instead of just trying to talk through a throat that keeps trying to close on him, hollow beneath with acid occasionally threatening to crawl up his throat. God, he feels awful, but it's distant enough that the words are still more important, still coming out. "I can't imagine losing someone you care about like that. It's...I wish there was more I could do to help, but there probably isn't anything." 

"Maybe not the way you're thinking," Sam says, frank but quiet. "But...having someone listen already helped. And I'm _not_ alone. That counts for a lot." He gives Hiyori a small smile, an obvious struggle, eyes still ringed with red and dark makeup, but it feels...strong, somehow. "I've got you, and I'd have the others here if I asked. I'm still...learning, to do that. It's hard sometimes." He lets his head hang, huffing out a laugh. "I only called you because I was worried, you know." 

Hiyori snaps his mouth shut. "Worried...?" he asks. 

"About you," Sam says, gently teasing, nudging him with one elbow. "You've been running yourself ragged, haven't you? Trying too hard. It's honestly kind of obvious, and coming from me, that's saying something." 

Hiyori shakes his head. "But I..." 

"You've been doing all that for someone else for so long," Sam says, "and now you have to pretend that everything's fine?" He shakes his head. "You do remember that you're your own person, right?" 

"Of course," Hiyori says. He's always known that—he's just decided to act in Ikuya's best interests, that's all. 

"Okay, okay," Sam says, and looks like he wants to lean closer again. He leans against the table instead, jaw propped on his hand and giving Hiyori an assessing glance. "So...never mind this other guy for a second—what do _you_ like? What do you want to be?" 

It's a big, scary question, but Hiyori gets why Sam is asking. "I...well," he says. "I like reading. I've always been kind of a nerd." 

Sam grins. "I'm biased, but I think most interesting people are. What about swimming?" 

Hiyori winces. "I..." 

He hates the way the answer sticks in his throat. He cares about it, he knows he does, but he also knows the level of effort that's required at his level, and he hasn't been putting in anywhere near enough. 

"It's important to you, right?" Sam says, soft but understanding. 

"Yes," Hiyori says, grateful that Sam has offered him that option. "It has been for a long time." 

"For you, and for him," Sam says, still quiet, accepting. 

He clenches his jaw, forces himself to relax. "Yes," he admits. 

"How much of all this," Sam says, voice gone quiet, gesturing enough to take in all of him, "is for _you_? Not for Ikuya, or for anybody else?" 

Hiyori swallows, thinks about it. He wants to say that all of it is enough, but how much did he choose for himself...? "I don't know," he admits. 

"Yeah," Sam mutters, muted but distinct. "I got that." 

Hiyori rubs at his forehead. "That's...a really big question for...this time of the morning," he says. He's too tired to check what time it is by now. 

"It is," Sam says. "You don't have to answer it right away. I just wanted to...well, be sure someone had asked it." 

"I've...been thinking about it," Hiyori says. "I haven't found any easy answers." 

"Well," Sam says, not at all unsympathetically, "keep thinking. And if you want to talk, I'll be around to listen. Okay?" 

Hiyori smiles, more on reflex than anything. "Thanks." 

"No problem." Groaning, Sam picks up his recharged phone and looks at it. "Okay," he says on a sigh, "first train isn't that much longer. Want to actually sing a song or two before we leave? If we don't do something, I'm worried I'll fall asleep, and then I don't know when I'll wake up." 

It's overcase and late enough in the year that there's no hint of light in the sky yet, but when Hiyori checks his phone, Sam is right. "Might as well," he says. He's come out the other end of tiredness, but at this point all he can do is hope that it doesn't come crashing down on him too soon. 

After all, he's got practice this morning. 

Swim practice is at ten—ordinarily not early, but this morning, it feels brutally late and way too soon, both at once. Hiyori gets back to campus with several hours to spare, and changes out of his clothes. Suddenly aware of how much he smells of stale cigarette smoke, sweat, and alcohol, he decides to shower.

The steam feels heavenly against his chilled skin, and he takes a little longer than he meant for it to, lingering until the heat of the water can sink all the way into his bones. 

He's aware he's got better things he could do with his time, but he doesn't think he's miscalculated too badly until he has to catch himself on the wall getting out. The exhaustion he's been hoping to ignore crashes over him like a wave, and as soon as he makes it to the door he has to settle down on the floor for a minute, staring at the point over his head where the wall joins the ceiling. 

His chest is rising and falling, shallow and fast and still damp. He feels soft and boneless, pinned by gravity. He hasn't felt this physically weak in a while, and this is really not the time for it. It doesn't go away, either, even when he hauls himself upward and splashes some cold water on his face in the sink, letting it run down his neck and chest, down to the towel he's got wrapped around his waist. 

He needs to do well at practice today; he's out of excuses. Terashima and the others won't be happy with another poor performance, that much he's sure of. 

Still feeling a little unsteady, he flops sideways down onto his couch and staring blindly at the book he left on his table. He could nap, but as Sam said before, he's not sure it's wise. 

For a long moment, he considers getting out his phone. It's late enough in the morning that he could start another conversation with Kinjou. But what would he say? He pulls out the message again to check, but if anything, the string of messages makes him feel even more lost in the light of day. 

And he's only made things worse for himself, too, he realizes. Like this, he's going to raise the question of what he's been up to, and...he can't explain that to them. Even without Kinjou's probable influence to make that too risky, he doesn't even know how he'd start to describe the night he's just had to someone who hadn't been there. 

His phone buzzes, and he starts so hard he drops it, and it slides sideways off his lap before clattering on the floor. Wincing, he picks it up, and sees a message from Ikuya. 

_Want to get breakfast?_

His appetite is completely gone, but that itself is probably a sign that he should eat something. Maybe it will help, seeing Ikuya face to face. 

* * *

It doesn't work. 

Seeing Ikuya in person used to be the only thing that helped Hiyori feel truly grounded. Regardless of how his day had been, whatever else might be bothering him, it was more important to keep track of how Ikuya was doing. But today, something's...off. 

Maybe it's that Ikuya stands so much more on his own now. Or maybe it's that he falls oddly quiet within a few minutes of seeing Hiyori, and keeps giving him darting little looks as they eat, mouth staying stubbornly shut. 

Hiyori, meanwhile, can only assume that it's him, because memories of the night before keep coming back to him, the sounds of parties and chattering of karaoke screens and the gasp of quiet crying. It's like he's blocked—like any skill he had in figuring out what Ikuya's thinking is gone. The memories seem more real than this quiet morning, Sam's words in his mind ring louder than Ikuya's silence.

"We should get going," Ikuya says finally, gathering up his tray, and...and it's no good. The thought of his teammates looking at him when he's like this makes him want to curl up and hide; he can feel phantom cramp starting in his stomach, and his head is already hurting thinking of the noise in the locker room, and bouncing off the gym walls.

Still, he stands and follows Ikuya out. He can carry himself under his own power just fine, at least on land, so he should be able to do this, but...he can't.

It's pathetic.

"About that," Hiyori says, as they head back to the dorms. "I'm thinking...I might sit this one out." He's not entirely sure where the words come from, though, because it doesn't feel like he's the one speaking them. 

Ikuya blinks at him, apparently as confused as he is. "What?" 

"I've...I need some time," Hiyori says. The words are falling from his mouth like stones. His mouth seems numb. He feels naked under his sweater and jacket, exposed to the cold air and the eyes of anybody from any angle who might be watching them as they walk. 

(Sam hadn't felt like this. Talking with him, it had felt like they were the only two people in the world. But now, with Ikuya staring at him, eyes growing progressively more intent, it feels like it's not just him. It's like the entire swim team, all of Ikuya's friends, a bevy of strangers all looking down on Hiyori, and he's not sure if he stops talking if he'll be able to open his mouth again. He's so tempted to smile and find a way to run.) 

"But..." Ikuya says, and then stops. He's starting to frown—whether he's upset with Hiyori or just confused by him is unclear. Probably it depends on what Hiyori says next, but he doesn't stop and think his words through. "There'll be time after," he says.

"No, it's...important," he says. "I won't be any good till I can figure it out, anyway."

"You can't just skip practice because you feel like it," Ikuya says, baffled.

 _I know,_ Hiyori wants to say, because he does, but he also has to. If Kinjou's already started his whisper campaign, which Hiyori has to assume he has, then he needs to have a plan in place. And he doesn't, yet. 

He hates himself, suddenly, for not having a plan already. He's had hours and hours to figure out what to do about this, but all he has now is the knowledge that he's utterly unprepared for what might be coming.

Meanwhile, his mouth keeps going, trying to smooth things over, to find an easy out. "It's...kind of related to practice, though," he says. "I need to work on my mindset. You know, why I'm still swimming competitively at this level, and everything. I need to think about that." 

"Why?" Ikuya asks, leaning forward like it's a challenge, his tone still aiming for casual but his volume rising. "Are you thinking of quitting?" 

Hiyori only realizes how dangerous answering thoughtlessly is once the terrible answer is out of his mouth. "Maybe." 

Ikuya stops. 

They're outside the steps of their dorm, and the area is mostly deserted, but not entirely; people are going in and out, and there are a few sitting at the bus stop down the street. Hiyori takes this in automatically as Ikuya takes a step away from him and squares his shoulders. 

"What?" 

He doesn't even sound angry, at least not yet. He sounds...shocked. Yes, shocked is the right word. 

"I'm not saying I want to leave," Hiyori says, trying to measure out his words so they don't tumble out together in a rush. It's...surprisingly hard. He can't just go back on everything with Ikuya already this upset, but...it's frightening, how much he wants to. "I'm saying, I need to get my head together." He laughs a bit, and it startles even himself. His hands go in his pockets; his gaze goes up, over both their heads, to the windows on the lower floors. "I don't know if you've noticed, but my times aren't the best lately." 

"But..." Ikuya's still gaping like a fish, body curled in on itself. Hiyori knows him well enough to see, behind the lost expression, a spring coiling tight. He's upset, and he hasn't yet realized how upset he is. 

He's not mad, but he's about to be. 

And so it is on Hiyori, as always, to be the voice of reason, the comfort, and the shock absorber all at once. Even though this time _he_ is the problem. 

He isn't sure if it's actually possible to do all that, this time. 

"If I'm really going to compete..." Hiyori says, trying to keep it earnest, keep the fear out of his voice, show no hints of resentment—the last thing he wants is to break Ikuya the way he tried to break Nanase. "If I'm going to keep up with everyone, be the team member they deserve, then I can't be unsure of myself like I am right now. I have to take this seriously, and really think about whether I stay or go." 

"It shouldn't even be a question," Ikuya mutters, and there it is, the anger starting to build up slowly in his eyes. Hiyori feels a pang in his chest in response. He's been witness to Ikuya's anger for years, seen the way it lashes inside him and the indirect ways he struggles to make it known to the rest of the world. He's _never_ wanted that anger directed at him. He never dreamed he would let it be. 

"It _has_ to be," Hiyori says, pleading. He stares Ikuya in the face. "Ikuya. You _deserve_ that. You shouldn't accept anything less." 

"Don't act like you're doing this for me!" 

There's no shove from Ikuya, no physical outburst except his fists at his sides and his head rearing back. But his volume has risen to the point that Hiyori thinks he sees a few heads swivel their way; his deep, usually quiet voice raised this loud and high makes something twist in Hiyori's chest. It's not quite the enraged bellow of an adult man—there's something more pained in it—but Hiyori is desperately uncomfortable and a little bit afraid. 

"If you're going to abandon me, just like everyone else," Ikuya bites out, and his eyes are swimming and his face is red, "don't you _dare_ act like you're doing it for me. What I deserve is honesty." 

"I'm _being_ honest." Hiyori latches onto that, because it's a thing that Ikuya's asking for and something he knows he's lacking in, and searches for a thing he knows to be true that he actually has words for. "I'm saying, I'm not sure I can do this. Would you rather I keep pretending?" 

Ikuya doesn't give an inch. "Pretending what?" 

"You want a teammate, Ikuya," Hiyori says. "You want a friend. You want someone who's _honest._ But we're treating each other like nothing has changed, and _I've never been that._ " 

"You've never been...my friend?" That seems to draw Ikuya up short, and the conclusion he seems to be drawing makes Hiyori's heart twist and ache. 

"No, I've always...I've always cared about you," he pushes out, and he knows he sounds flat and fake but it's the truth and he had to get it out right then no matter what. Better fake than nothing. "But I'm not...I'm not like your other friends. Your _real_ friends." 

Ikuya takes a slow, angry breath and glares at him, trying to find a way around that. His silence wrenches Hiyori's heart further, like a pulled muscle he shouldn't be training that he's continuing to push to the breaking point. It's because Hiyori's _right_ , he knows, that Ikuya has nothing to say. 

"You...you've given me so many chances," Hiyori says, through a throat gone tight, "and, and I'm trying to measure up. That means that I need to figure out how to _be_ honest. Your other friends have always been honest with you. You're right; you deserve honesty." 

"So," Ikuya says, slowly, "is the truth that you don't want to swim anymore?" 

The words are heavy, gritty in the back of his throat, but he's not running. A single tear falls from his face on a blink, but he doesn't seem to notice, and Hiyori does him the courtesy of ignoring it in turn. 

"The truth is that I need to _think_ ," he says, and knows the words sound hollow, but he's on the last dregs of his hope. "Ikuya, I'm sorry. I'm not as strong as you, not mentally, not yet. No matter what, I _don't_ want to hold you back." 

Ikuya's mouth opens and closes a few times, like he's trying to figure out what to say. Hiyori waits. The hitch in Ikuya's breathing is inaudible, but Hiyori sees it, jumping in Ikuya's chest. He looks like his heart's breaking. It's harder than he cried when he was reunited with his friends again. His eyes are dark. 

"Just do whatever you want," he spits, finally, and turns and rushes into the dorms. 

Hiyori stares after him. There are people walking around him to get to the doors, so he goes to stand out of foot traffic, so as not to be a nuisance. People pass, but they seem insubstantial, like shadows. Cars are driving by on the road beside the dorm, and the rumble of their engines moves up through the bones of his feet, rattling in his chest. It's the only thing that feels real. 

He has nowhere to go—Ikuya's in the dorms, and he can't face him again—and practice was the only thing he was meant to do today. He's got nothing but his wallet on him, no backpack and no swimming bag, and the sky is angry and gray, looking like it could start throwing down rain or even sleet at any moment. That hardly matters, though, because he's stuck out here—needs to get out of the way, actually. He doubts Ikuya wants to see him right now, either, and he'd hate to block him on the way to practice.

Abruptly, he can't stand still any longer. He tugs his jacket more tightly around himself, turns on his heel, and sets off. He can't swim today, but he can still walk, so walk he does, and tries—again and again—to think.

He's given up on any illusions that he can fix this, but still, there has to be some way to minimize the damage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning summary** : Sam and Hiyori discuss an old friend of Sam's who committed suicide several years previously, and Sam's feelings of guilt and insufficiency.
> 
> * * *
> 
> I don't have a whole lot else to say this chapter, because whoof. This one has a lot of plot points that I've been building up to for a while, and was also kind of a lot in general, so I hope it works. 
> 
> Also: I know that a lot of people are going through a lot of different stuff and a lot of us are feeling really alone right now. Please be smarter than Hiyori about it. Try to rest when you need it, or at least as much as you can. Remember that checking in with friends and loved ones can help both of you feel better; there's nothing wrong with reaching out and asking for an ear or some support if you need it. It isn't always easy, and things may not always go the way you want, but it's almost always worth it in the long run. 
> 
> Sending y'all good vibes from my little corner of the world. (And feel free to yell at me if you so choose. This chapter might merit some yelling.)


	17. At Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Distance allows for some much-needed perspective, but Ikuya's beginning to suspect he's even further away than he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild content warning for a generally bad Ikuya headspace this chapter, but that's...not exactly a spoiler, I think. Please be careful regardless, though. 
> 
> There was a lot I wanted to cover in this chapter, at least briefly, but it might have ended up rambling a bit as a result. Hopefully it isn't too much of a mess.

Ikuya still goes to practice. Hiyori doesn't, and it burns him every time he thinks about it, like something searing has been physically pressed to the inside of his ribs. 

Sometimes, in the water, it eases. But every time he breaks free, comes to the end of a set, it twinges at him all over again. 

The others notice, of course. He can see Shin and Kotaro talking to each other with serious expressions, but not what they're talking about. It doesn't come to a head until it's the time they usually set aside for relay practice, when they both come to the head of his lane, looking wary. Hoshikawa makes his way over, too. 

When they ask him about Hiyori, he doesn't know what to say. He can't bring himself to repeat what Hiyori said to him, because it would be bad if Hiyori had just been saying that, if he doesn't mean go through with it. But he can't trust his own recollections. How serious had Hiyori seemed? Is it only his own selfishness that's injecting a sense of doubt into what he said? 

Maybe it would be kinder to break things off for Hiyori now, especially if he simply intends never to come back. 

The thought makes him swallow sharply, and it's around then, when he can't offer any excuses, that Hoshikawa takes over the conversations. 

"The next meet isn't for a while, anyway," he says. "You all won't suffer from a few rounds of individual practice. It's a shame since Toono just switched to be one of the inner legs, but it's not the end of the world. Sagae, Terashima, don't worry about practicing that exchange for now." 

Kotaro grumbles about it for a little while longer, but not for as long as Ikuya would have expected, especially given his complaints about Hiyori's exchanges before. From the concerned look he catches from Shin once or twice, he wonders if they're holding back for Ikuya's sake, but he can't be positive. 

Ikuya almost wishes he knew as little as they did. It's hard to focus properly on his training, though frustration spurs him on; he doesn't get close to his personal best, but his times are still mostly better than average, which is more than he would have expected under the circumstances. It almost makes him feel guilty, remembering the way Hiyori's struggled the last few months, the twist to his mouth whenever he'd looked at Ikuya's charts for them both and seen his own time trending the wrong direction. 

(Ikuya has known that for a while; after years of tracking these numbers almost to the point of obsession, Ikuya has a feel for it. Hiyori doesn't, but for all his smarts in other areas, Hiyori's never had quite Ikuya's head for numbers.) 

He pulls himself out a few minutes after the others, while the captains and a few others are still chatting around the sides. He goes to the locker room by himself, showers by himself—keeps it as quick and simple as he can. He's on-edge, a little worried about spacing out because he can't quite shake the subconscious anxiety that there's no one around to break him out of it if he does. It's surprisingly difficult to stay focused, knowing there isn't anyone who's going to come get him if he doesn't.

(Hiyori always saved him from so many little things. He'd never allowed himself to realize it, too stung by his pride at the thought he'd needed the help. But that means he rarely thanked him, either.) 

Mercifully, he's able to leave without anyone trying to talk to anyone—or at least, not anyone he notices. He gets back to his room, throws the lock and leans back against his door. His heart's pounding even though there's no reason for it to be, as the situation crashes back down on him. 

This hurts. It _hurts_. He can't stop the thoughts in his head, racing in circles. How could Hiyori do this to him? 

All this time, all these years, doing things Ikuya didn't even want him to—and now, just like that, now that they're finally team members, Hiyori's leaving? 

His eyes are stinging. Ikuya rubs at them angrily, pushes away from the door, begins to pace. 

Never mind how, why? Why would Hiyori do this _now,_ when Ikuya's finally found it in himself to make an effort? Now that he's _trying_? 

Maybe he's just that bad of a team member?

The thought makes him double over, head over his knees. He wants to scream, muffles it in his hands. He knows he's like a child throwing a tantrum, but...he _feels_ like a child. 

He feels like he's in middle school again, staring at Haru's back across classrooms and hallways, wondering why and stuck in silence. Even though Hiyori came to talk to him, Ikuya feels like he doesn't understand what he could possibly be thinking. He feels like he _can't_ understand—like no matter what Hiyori said, it wouldn't make sense. 

Hiyori loves swimming. It's something Ikuya has always known about him. It was reassuring, another promise that Hiyori wouldn't go away. 

Maybe all he wanted, all these years, was a person that wouldn't disappear on him. 

Maybe that was never worth hoping for at all. Maybe it was impossible from the start. 

Ikuya tries to breathe through the loss, but it's difficult. He has to go soon, doesn't have very much time for this, but right now it's all he can do to make it to his bed without hitting something or screaming. 

He curls into a ball, hugging his knees to his chest. He can't believe he messed everything this up this badly, again. He can't believe the Hiyori he talked to. 

It's like he hasn't felt this alone since middle school, even though he has more friends than he's ever had. 

It hurts so much he's not sure how he can stand it. 

* * *

He's not sure how much later it is when his phone buzzes, bringing him out of his spiral. It's overcast today, but the angle of the faint light through his window tells him it's the afternoon. It's been a while since he's wasted this much time, and it doesn't make him feel any better. 

It takes far more effort than it reasonably should to grab his phone, but the message there isn't from anyone he's expecting. Surprised, he gets up and peers out the window, then hurriedly gets ready to leave. 

As soon as he makes it outside, a voice calls out to him. "Hey! Ikuya!"

He turns to spot Asahi jogging towards him, waving one hand with great vigor. Behind him Haru, calm but keeping up with Asahi's pace. 

"Hey," he says, blankly, as draw up to him. "What's going on? What are you two doing here?" 

"We wanted to hang out with you," Asahi says, like it's the most natural thing in the world to take at least half an hour just to come by bus to his campus. "Are you free?" 

"...Yeah." He didn't have anything planned till tomorrow, and with tests over with he's about as free as he's going to get. "But that doesn't explain why you're here...?"

"You look upset," Haru says, and when Ikuya turns to stare at him, he pushes his hands further into his pockets, like a full-body shrug. "Let's just go somewhere." 

"My sis's place then?" Asahi volunteers, waving one hand. "It's pretty quiet this time of day. Sis won't mind us taking up a booth for a while." 

They've had variations on this conversation regularly ever since Ikuya has started hanging out with them. It's soothing, like nothing is wrong at all. 

Before he knows what he's saying, he says, "Sure," and falls into step beside Asahi. 

Asahi, weirdly, reaches over and slings an arm around his his shoulder. Ikuya cuts a look over at him, but Asahi is gazing determinedly up at the sky, lips pursed as though to whistle, the picture of innocence.

"Come on," Haru says, abrupt as always, and that's all it takes. Ikuya, in a daze, follows the path that has been laid out before him. 

The spell of normality lasts longer than it has any right to. Ikuya and the others take the bus out to the café, settle in, order their usual from Asahi's sister and play with his nephew for a little while. 

Tsukushi has her social days and his decidedly anti-social ones; he and Haru are still figuring out what to do with each other and it's equal parts adorable and hilarious on the occasions they try to interact. Today, Tsukushi indicates for about ten seconds that he wants to be in Haru's lap, and then changes her mind, to Haru's visible relief. He plays with Asahi's fingers for a few minutes instead, while they chat about things of no importance, trading notes about off-season and exams and the other little things in life. 

After Asahi gives Tsukushi back to his sister, though, he stops pretending he's not staring in Ikuya's direction. He just sighs, apparently unwilling to say whatever's on his mind. 

Haru, it seems, is more willing. "What's going on, Ikuya?" he asks. 

It's quintessential Haru: when he decides to address something, context is something for other people, not him. Still, it's not like Ikuya doesn't understand what Haru's getting at; he knows he's acting strange, even if he doesn't know what they've noticed, or how. 

Ikuya heaves a breath, tries to respond in kind. "Hiyori told me he's quitting the swim team."

Haru stares. Asahi freezes. Ikuya looks down at his plate, an unknown feeling tightening his throat and making it hard to continue. 

"But..." Asahi says, and then stops. 

"He loves swimming," Ikuya says, not sure why that's the important thing to say. (Maybe because Haru is in front of him?) "He always has. It's like this came out of nowhere. I have no idea what he's thinking." 

"Did you ask?" Haru says. From anyone else, the question would've been judgmental; from him it's too flat to seem particularly harsh. 

"He didn't have a good reason," Ikuya says. 

Haru is undeterred. "Did he give you a bad one, then?" 

"Something like...he couldn't get into it the way he used to." Ikuya clenches his fists in his lap, staring down at the tabletop. "He's been stagnating. It's the off-season, I didn't think it was a big deal. He shouldn't think so, either, but...then this." Ikuya looks up at all of them, and he knows there's too much grief in his voice for talking about a friend's hobby. "I don't understand. Why would he just give up, all of a sudden? Without even asking for advice about it?" 

There's a long silence, as the three of them stare at each other. 

"He's on a relay team with you, too, isn't he," Asahi says, voice low. 

Ikuya's jaw clenches as he nods. 

Asahi lets out a low breath. "That sucks."

Ikuya's voice comes out raw: "Yes, it does." 

There's a long silence at the table...and then the door opens, and a familiar figure comes in, smiling.

"Hey," Kisumi says to them. He sounds light-hearted as ever, a breath of fresh air in the tense atmosphere. It would be nicer if Ikuya actually wanted that right now, but it's not Kisumi's fault, it's just his nature. He sits back and tries to take a deep breath as Kisumi comes to a halt and looks them over. 

"...Did something happen?" 

Ikuya bites his lips and looks away. Asahi makes a slightly aggravated noise, and if Haru reacts, Ikuya doesn't catch it. 

Kisumi sits down, but he seems cautious now, looking between the three of them. "Ikuya?" he asks. 

A lucky guess, or is it that obvious? Ikuya's arms tighten where they're folded against his chest. "Swimming stuff," he says tightly. 

"Oh?" Kisumi looks between them. "Well, you can keep talking about it if you want. It seems important." 

"Thanks," Ikuya mutters, and something about Kisumi's tone has him blurting out, "I just...feel like it's just happening again. Someone I care about is quitting, and leaving me behind, and there's nothing I can do." 

There's a long silence, and then Asahi, from beside him, raises one awkward hand and places it on Ikuya's shoulder. 

Ikuya feels an urge shrug it away. He doesn't. Instead, he tries his best to take a deep, calming breath. 

"Did you tell him that?" Haru asks. 

Ikuya swallows; it's actually a little hard to remember. "I'm pretty sure it came up," he mumbles. 

"And what did he say?" 

"He..." Ikuya tries to remember. It's a little stupid, how hard it is for him to recall how the conversation actually went. "He told me I shouldn't try. That I should focus on me instead, because I wasn't going to change his mind." 

"Wow," Asahi says, and it's an impressive amount of scorn and sympathy packed into one little syllable. 

"Right?" Even the single word feels a little bit like a betrayal. Ikuya had meant to laugh it, but his voice breaks instead and he lower his head further to stare down at his hands, face burning. "I just...I thought we were better friends than that. But apparently, we're not." 

"Wait," Kisumi pipes up suddenly, frowning. "Who are you talking about?" 

"Toono," Asahi says shortly.

Kisumi's brow draws down further. " _Hiyori_ did that?" He turns to Ikuya. "What happened?" 

Ikuya stares at him for a moment, and then feels stupid and ashamed—because that's right, Kisumi's friends with Hiyori, of course he'd be concerned. "He...he's quitting," he says. "Or he says he might." 

Kisumi looks so honestly worried that it takes Ikuya aback further. "That...doesn't sound like him." 

"Because it isn't," Ikuya says. "I don't understand at all. He just said it out of nowhere." 

Kisumi shakes his head. "He's...well, there's been _something_ going on with him lately, but..." 

"Wait, what?" Asahi cuts in. "How do _you_ know?" 

"He comes to my basketball circle, remember?" Kisumi says, a little more shortly than Ikuya is used to. "When he can make it out, anyway. He hasn't come too often lately, but this weekend he looked bad." 

"Bad how?" Asahi says. 

He still sounds suspicious to Ikuya, but maybe it's his imagination, because Kisumi's answer is calm enough. "Worn out. I don't know what's getting to him, exactly, but it sure seemed like _something_ was." He shakes his head. "He ended up napping on the sidelines halfway through. Just...flat on the ground, like it was comfortable." 

"That's...okay, that's weird," Ikuya admits. "I know he was up late studying a few times last week. But he's had all weekend, that should've been enough time to rest up." He pauses as something else occurs to him, making him mad all over again. "He was even saying that he was going to get back to practicing more seriously once midterms were over."

Kisumi gives him an inscrutable look. "You people aren't very good at taking it easy sometimes, huh?" His voice is still light, casual, but he's looking straight at Ikuya, and—notably for Kisumi—he's not smiling.

"We don't have time to slack off, no," Ikuya begins. 

Kisumi shakes his head. "I'm not talking about slacking off," he says, "I'm talking about burnout, maybe." 

That throws Ikuya for a loop. "Seriously?" 

"Yeah. I mean, I don't know, he was really out of it but it's more like it isn't _just_ that. You're telling me you haven't noticed?" Kisumi still doesn't sound accusatory, just worried. "He's seemed kinda down for a while." 

"Well..." Ikuya shakes his head. "There was...that thing a few weeks ago, that he wouldn't talk to me about. But other than that, not really." 

Kisumi winces. "You know, with the whole Kinjou thing, I'd almost forgotten about that. Did you ever find out what it was about?" 

"...Um." Between spying on him and finding out about his random sleepover with the American kid, it had been driven out of his head. 

"Guess not, huh?" Kisumi still doesn't look judgmental, but he does throw Ikuya a sideways look. "Look, I know this surprised you, but are you really sure it came out of nowhere?" 

"He didn't say anything like this," Ikuya says, but before he's even done with the sentence he's aware that it sounds like he's whining. "Not until today." 

He's a little surprised when Kisumi shrugs, apparently not about to lecture him. "Well, I can't talk. He hasn't actually told me anything, either."

"He's a _jerk_ ," Asahi says, and Ikuya feels an irrational twist of anger. He knows Asahi is trying to cheer him up, in his own way. He also knows it's only for the sake of friendship that Asahi didn't say that sort of thing about Hiyori before. "Dropping a bombshell like that, and then just leaving you pick up the pieces...geez." 

Ikuya, knowing that he's being mean, can't stop himself from giving Asahi a rather pointed look. 

Haru speaks up a moment later. "Well, we did that, too."

"That's..." Asahi starts to argue, but he deflates a little bit, looks over at Ikuya. "That's true," he says, "we kind of did, huh? Sorry." 

"You already apologized," Ikuya says, and it's a little strange. Not so long ago, a younger version of him would have given a great deal for them to apologize to him like this, but now it feels like the last thing he wants. Is it just that he always wants things he can't get? 

Then again, even though they're apologizing, it's not like they're going to get to swim together on a team anytime soon. So it's not like it changes much. 

That's probably it, he realizes gloomily, but that doesn't mean he's going to be a child about things, now. "Really, guys, I appreciate the apologies," he says, looking between all of them. "But it means a lot to me that you're here right now. Seriously, thank you." 

And he should be satisfied with that. He _should_. 

Why isn't he? 

Kisumi smiles at him, but Haruka and Asahi are frowning. "Still," Asahi says, and though his voice is subdued he still sounds a little bitter, "it's not like we dropped you in someone else's lap or something. I don't get that guy at all." 

Ikuya pauses, blinks. Something about that doesn't add up. "Wait, what?" 

"Hiyori came to talk to us earlier," Haru tells him. 

He has that look that Ikuya is realizing he sometimes gets—it feels at home on his face, but when they were younger, Ikuya doesn't think he ever recognized it. It's like a storm behind a window. He's unhappy about something, Ikuya would guess, but he's not quite acknowledging it yet, maybe not even to himself. But it's visible, if you know what to look for. 

"To talk to you?" 

"Yeah," Haru says. 

"...How did that go?" 

"He wasn't bad," Haru says, and his nose wrinkles the tiniest bit. "...Polite." 

Ikuya winces. "That sounds like Hiyori." 

"He was...trying," Haruka says. "I think." 

"He usually does." 

Haru nods, acknowledging that. "He's the one that said to talk to you." 

Something in Ikuya's chest thuds, uncomfortable. "He...did?" 

"That's what Haru says, anyway." Asahi says. "I didn't hear anything of it. Looked to me like he was apologizing, or something." He cuts a glance at Haru. "Did he?" 

"It was more of a request." 

"Like he has any room to request anything from us." 

Haru shrugs minutely. "He said that, too." 

"I cannot stand that guy," Asahi growls.

"Like you said," Haru says, turning to Ikuya. "He was trying. Probably." 

"I...don't get it," Ikuya says. "Why would he do that?" 

"Maybe he was worried about you," Kisumi suggests. 

"That's...but I don't get it," Ikuya says, blankly. "Why go to the effort? He doesn't want anything to do with me anymore." 

Asahi stares at him. "You're not serious." 

Kisumi leans forward. "Yeah, no. Did he _say_ that?" 

"Well...no," Ikuya says, "but he must've _meant_ it. Right?" 

"I...don't think that's what he meant, no," Kisumi says carefully. "Haru, what'd he say when he talked to you?" 

"He said he couldn't..." Haru frowns, like he's trying to work it out. "He wanted us to talk to you because he couldn't. I think." 

"But then..." Ikuya frowns, rubs his hands up and down his face. "I just...I feel like I can't think straight. Like there's something I'm missing." 

"Is he really worth the effort of worrying about?" Asahi mutters, and Ikuya pauses, thinking. "I mean it. Hey." 

A hand on his shoulder. Ikuya looks up at Asahi, who's got that little frown on his face that means he's thinking out loud. 

"If he said not to worry about it, then maybe you shouldn't? Like, it seems like he's trying to upset you as little as possible, he just kind of sucks at it." 

"There's no way I _wouldn't_ be upset that he's quitting," Ikuya says, but he's not arguing with Asahi, he's following along with him. His eyes drop to Asahi's lap. "I only just got onto a team with him. I don't want to lose that." 

Dammit, his eyes are prickling. Again. He can't believe how much it feels like it did in middle school, the raw sense of unfairness of it all pressing down on him. 

"I didn't think he did, either," he continues, rubs self-consciously at his face with one hand. 

"Then why?" 

It comes from Haru, with that irritated tone in his voice that hints that he's getting tired of talking in circles. 

"Why what?" Ikuya asks dully.

"Why would he leave? If you just joined up with him. What's going on with him?" 

"I don't _know_ ," Ikuya says. 

"Is it worth it to you? To find out?" 

"I...what?" 

Haruka is staring at him. "Hiyori told us to look out for you because he couldn't. Not 'I don't want to.' He said 'can't.'" 

Ikuya nods, still trying to figure out what Haru's getting at. 

"Maybe he's in trouble." 

Ikuya bites his lip. "I...how can that be right? He won't even..." 

Won't what? Ikuya isn't sure. Won't talk to him, for one. His tongue is sticking to the roof of his mouth and he's sure there's something cresting over him, a wave ready to break. 

And Haru just keeps going, because once he's on to something, he doesn't stop. Why would he stop? "If Hiyori leaves the swim team, will that be it for you and him?" 

Ikuya opens his mouth, closes it. Doesn't answer. 

"That's true," Kisumi jumps in. "I'm not sure either of you realizes that you can still be friends." 

Ikuya frowns. "We can. Of course we can." It won't be the same thing, exactly, but...he can't quite say that. Not in front of Kisumi, anyway. 

"I kinda thought he'd know better than that, yeah," Kisumi admits. "He's been pretty good at sticking with you up till now. Better than anyone else has managed, at least." 

Something uncomfortable twists in Ikuya's stomach. "Am I that hard to keep up with?" he asks, quiet. 

"Everyone's hard, sometimes," Kisumi says, not seeming bothered, but not seeming sorry, either. "You _did_ go to a different continent before, though." 

Ikuya can't argue with that, especially coming from Kisumi. "Sorry," he mumbles. "But why now? He's seemed...fine." He paused, suddenly less sure. "Mostly fine." 

"Has he?" Kisumi's quiet, for Kisumi. Still not afraid to say whatever he's thinking, but he seems oddly careful about it, too. Sure of what he's saying, yes, but choosing his words carefully. "Because, like...I can't quite put my finger on it, but I don't know if 'fine' is the word I would use. I don't know, though, I don't know him like you do." 

"Clearly I don't know him as well as I thought I did," Ikuya mumbles. 

"Come on, you two are like best friends," Kisumi says. "That doesn't change overnight. But maybe you can't see how, like...shy he is, around other people? And there was the whole thing with Kinjou, and—” 

"That was _ages_ ago," Ikuya says, exasperated. 

"Well, sure," Kisumi says, "but it was more the way he _reacted_. We had to go behind his back to do anything about it. He didn't even complain—he apologized, actually, and then just left the circle for a while." 

" _That_ doesn't sound like him at all," Asahi says, scowling. "He didn't exactly back down when he had a problem with _us_." 

"I wouldn't know about that," Kisumi says diplomatically, "but I kind of feel like it might be different." 

Ikuya's stomach twists. "He was...doing that for me, I think," he admits. He sneaks a glance in Asahi's direction. "I didn't actually want to talk with you guys very much, back then." 

"Hm," Kisumi says. "Yep, that...kinda makes sense for him." 

"He..." Haru starts, and then freezes when everyone turns to look at him. "He seemed...upset," Haru says, finally. "Maybe he didn't want you to see." 

No. No, that can't be right. Can it?

He should care. He should _care,_ it should hurt like when he found out Hiyori was leaving him, to hear that he's hurting and pushing Ikuya away because of that. But it doesn't. He's just stubbornly sure that it isn't true. That Hiyori would never be that stupid. 

"I don't think that's it," he says to Haru. 

"You should still ask him," Haru says, expression stony, "and see."

"All right," Ikuya says, "maybe I will." 

Ikuya pushes away his plate. It isn't empty yet, but he's done with everything at this table. 

"Hey," Haru says, making him pause. When he turns to look, Haru's holding up his phone. "Makoto's on his way." 

"Hm," Kisumi says lightly. "Do you think he might know something?" 

"He might," Ikuya says. "But I'm not going to ask, not yet. Hiyori already got mad at Makoto once for trying to tell me things. I think I should track him down first and at least try to get a straight answer out of him this time." 

He may not know how to make things better, yet, but the last thing he wants is to make things worse. 

"Good luck." There's no enmity in Haru's gaze at all. Kisumi, echoing him, looks upset. Asahi looks dumbfounded and a little bit outraged, but if he tries to talk with him anymore Ikuya gets the feeling things are going to get worse, not better. 

"Sorry about all this," he manages, aware that he'll regret treating them this way later, even if he doesn't now. "I'll let you know how it goes. I appreciate the advice." 

"Anytime," Kisumi says immediately, as Ikuya pulls on his coat. "But are you sure—"

"Yes," Ikuya insists. "I'm not going to be able to figure this out without trying _something_." 

He pulls himself out of the café with a half-assed wave, walks out and back towards his bus stop. It's raining when he gets outside, small flecks of cold water stinging just a bit when they're blown into his face by the wintry breeze. 

He turns up his collar and messages Hiyori on the way back, but even though he checks his phone periodically on the way back, no reply appears. 

He returns to his dorm and stays there for a little while, hopeful at first, and then increasingly certain, as darkness starts falling in earnest, that Hiyori isn't going to answer. 

He thinks it through, trying to be careful. It's hard, not to get carried away with the feelings and the certainty that there's no point to thinking about it—that there's no worth contemplating why he's not worth anyone's time, that it's just a fact that he's worthless and drives everyone away. 

For years, it's been Hiyori that's helped him get through the moments where his logic gets all self-destructive and bent out of shape. That makes it hard to think things through clearly. 

Still, he tries. If Hiyori were here—if Hiyori weren't the _problem,_ if it was someone else behaving like this—then what would he say? 

He'd say the opposite of what he _did_ this time, is the problem. He'd talk about how great Ikuya is and how he shouldn't need anyone. Only he obviously doesn't think very much of Ikuya anymore, and Ikuya's finally accepting the fact that he's never "not needed anyone." He's missed his friends for years, and apparently now he can barely think in a straight line without someone to vent to. Someone who was _good_ at being vented to, and weirdly, his old friends had only barely cut it this time. 

They didn't seem as patient as he'd been expected. They weren't as cool-headed or logical, they didn't talk things through from start to finish in the same way, they seemed intimidated by his emotions. They'd been safe to talk to, and they'd helped, but...it hadn't _felt_ the way talking to Hiyori usually did. 

So, yeah. He's obviously been relying on Hiyori more than he wants to admit, not that he has much of a choice anymore. 

And yet, clearly the things that Hiyori always said to him are wrong. And his other friends...they don't get it, or they don't get _him,_ or he doesn't get _them._

And he doesn't understand Hiyori anymore, either. This is _pointless._

Suddenly, an odd feeling of calm fills him. It feels like a tall, solid shape sitting beside him, a steady, calm gaze. Hiyori isn't here, but even though the words don't make sense, he remembers the feeling of the dozens of moments when Hiyori had somehow latched onto something solid in the storm in Ikuya's head. 

Instead of letting him continue, Hiyori would ask him to start from there. What starting point would he use? What does Ikuya _know?_

He doesn't understand what Hiyori told him. He doesn't understand why Hiyori would want to quit. 

His friends don't know Hiyori like Ikuya does, but they'd still had better theories than Ikuya does.

Haru seems to think that something's wrong with Hiyori. Asahi, though he had the least patience with him in general, also seems to think _something_ is up. And Kisumi is uncharacteristically worried, which is probably important, given that he knows Hiyori best of the three of them.

Hell, he might know him better than Ikuya. At this point, he couldn't exactly discount that possibility. 

So...maybe something _is_ wrong. Maybe he hurt Hiyori's feelings—actually, that's depressingly likely—and maybe there's more going on that Hiyori didn't tell him. Or maybe it even doesn't have anything to do with him at all. 

Okay, great. What should he actually _do_ about any of that? 

Well, asking is probably a pretty good first step. The trick, he's pretty sure, will be preventing the conversation from exploding into another catastrophe. At least this time, he's going into it forewarned, but still...

...It's also unusual that Hiyori doesn't seem to have even read his message yet. 

After longer than he'd like to admit thinking in circles, he leaves his dorm, marches straight up to Hiyori's dorm, and knocks on the door. 

There's no answer. 

He considers talking at Hiyori the door, demanding to be let in, but there's the other people in the hall to worry about, and besides, the light in his room is off, as far as Ikuya can tell. He might not even be there.

He goes back to his room and tries calling, but his call goes unanswered. Not blocked, just ignored. 

Ikuya throws his phone onto his bed hard enough that it bounces and slides across to the hall, coming to a rest with an uncomfortable-sounding clatter. Pretending that he's not bothered by that, he flops down after it. 

He's frustrated, but he tries to hang on to the frustration, because what's underneath it is worse. He's honestly...worried, more than a little, that Hiyori is avoiding him this thoroughly. 

And worse than that, he's lonely. He misses him. 

It's hard to give up on him for the day, but at this point it's the logical course of action. If Hiyori wanted to talk to him, he would have at least tried by now. And even if tests are over, they both still have class to deal with in the morning. 

He'll just have to hope that Hiyori decides to start acknowledging him again, soon. Even if he's starting to wonder whether it's okay to leave Hiyori alone...well. He'll be as patient as he needs to. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any guesses about where Hiyori might be, before the next chapter? ;) 
> 
> I ended up having feelings about Ikuya while writing this chapter—mainly thoughts about how to write him as flawed and sympathetic at the same time, which I find harder to do with Ikuya than with Hiyori. If you'd like to see those, they're over [here](https://kinosternon.tumblr.com/post/618185028945510400/cscg-behind-the-scenes-2). 
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading, and for all your support!


	18. Channel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hiyori takes matters into his own hands. 
> 
> (Fairly mild content warnings this chapter, but please check them if you're so inclined.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, if you're interested, please check out this [deleted scene](https://kinosternon.tumblr.com/post/618825724037677056/cscg-deleted-scene-request) that I stuck over on my writing Tumblr! I liked this scene, but it just didn't fit anywhere in the main story, partly because of timeline/pacing stuff and partly because of the way I wrote it. This scene was referenced briefly last chapter (and is again at the beginning of this one), but it actually happened between chapters 16 and 17. It's not required reading, but does...offer a new perspective. Heh. 
> 
> This is the longest chapter yet, and I had trouble with a few parts of it. I'm hoping it isn't too rough, but I'm hoping to check back in a few days to see if I missed any glaring problems. It's a pretty important one, after all. ;) 
> 
> There are a few **content warnings** for this chapter, but they're mild and slightly spoiler-y, so I put them in the end notes. Be safe, everyone!

The process of getting out to Hidaka and finding Shiina and Nanase takes less time than Hiyori had anticipated. He's lucky that he finds both of them, though Nanase was the one he'd been looking for in particular. The actual conversation, too—it should have been agonizing, to apologize only to make a request of people with so very little reason to listen to him. 

But they're Ikuya's friends, and they've proven themselves to be decent people _now_ , regardless of how they might have fallen short when they and Ikuya were children. That makes it easier to ask, and so does the knowledge that he wasn't actually asking anything of them that he thought they wouldn't do anyway. 

Nanase is...harder to read than Hiyori remembered, and the entire process is awkward. Shiina doesn't want to get anywhere near him, but that's fine. Nanase may not talk much, but he should be good to pass on his message. 

Hiyori leaves without looking aback, keeping his back straight and his steps measured. He's...pretty sure he came across as...fairly reasonable, all things considered. Of course, it's hard to stand in front of someone, calm and composed, and ask for help with something that a calm and composed person should be able to do on their own. But as long as they even think there's a chance something's wrong with Ikuya, they'll check. 

Ikuya isn't alone. He has back the people he thought he lost. He doesn't need Hiyori anymore, he just hadn't remembered that because he was upset. He's better off going back to them than he would be dealing with Hiyori right now. 

Hiyori tells himself this, over and over, but he knows he's just running from what he's done. 

Of course Ikuya's upset with him. With anyone else, having a teammate suddenly quit would be perplexing and maybe a little sad. For Ikuya, though...because Ikuya doesn't know the bigger picture, this is one of the cruelest things Hiyori could have done to him. But...even if it's just because he's selfish, Ikuya finding out Hiyori's reasons is the last thing he wants. 

He hadn't meant to abandon him, but that's exactly what he's doing. After so many years of thinking he'd been forgotten about, of course Ikuya wouldn't count Nanase and the others as trustworthy, not yet. Ikuya deserves to have someone in his life who doesn't fall short, who he can actually trust to stick around.

So now, he's left Ikuya in a bad place. He doesn't have the capacity to feel as guilty as he should about that, not right now. The dread of it is hanging over him, but it's distant, something for a future that Hiyori can't picture yet. 

So, priorities. 

Ikuya's friends have been told to go get him. That's the biggest emergency covered. Getting them back made all the difference to Ikuya before; Hiyori's confident that they'll help Ikuya through the crisis of confidence Hiyori has caused. 

Next, he needs to get his own issues under control, so that when he apologizes, he can explain things simply. 

That means a clean break, and being responsible instead of just saying things that are going to upset people. 

So he goes back the way he came, struggling not to doze off on the bus so he doesn't miss his stop, and waits in the library until a little after practice is over. Once he figures it's been enough time, Hiyori sets out on a roundabout way to the pool, peeking around every corner and making sure to avoid the dorms. The last thing he wants is for Ikuya to catch him now, and he'd rather avoid as much of the rest of the swim team as possible. 

He makes it into the gym without attracting much notice, and cuts straight past the locker rooms. Only a few of his teammates are still in the pool area, and mercifully, Ikuya, Sagae, and Terashima aren't among them. 

Hoshikawa's standing near the light switches, making sure the pool has been tidied up after practice. It's what Hiyori was hoping for, but it's still lucky to catch him like this, looking at something on his laptop without anyone else nearby. 

"Captain." 

"Toono," he replies evenly. "I noticed you missed practice today." 

"Yes," and Hiyori bows, "I'm sorry about that. I...something came up." 

"I see. Well, don't make a habit of it. Your teammates were looking for you." Hoshikawa raises an eyebrow. "Hard to practice exchanges when one of the inner legs is missing." 

"About...that," Hiyori says, and takes a deep breath. It's always harder to say something that doesn't seem expected, and he has no idea whether Hoshikawa is expecting this. "I'm...afraid I'm not sure I'll be able to stay with the team much longer. Or at all, actually." 

Hoshikawa gives him a long look. "Come with me," he says, and then turns on his heel and leaves for one of the side halls, apparently expecting Hiyori to follow him. 

Quietly, Hiyori does. 

They go past the locker rooms and around the corner. There's a smaller room with a vending machine tucked out of the way, popular enough that the team's favorite snacks are usually sold out at any given time, but for the moment the room is empty. There's a small bench not far from it, and that's where Hoshikawa settles, gesturing for Hiyori to join him. Hiyori sits, trying not to be distracted by the way he can feel his heart thudding against his ribs.

"It's unusual for someone to quit partway through the year like this," Hoshikawa says, voice neutral rather than disapproving. "I'm curious to hear your reason." 

Hiyori's been thinking about how to have this conversation ever since he decided to have it, but his argument with Ikuya already wrecked whatever confidence he might have had. He's not even sure which of his many lines of reasoning is going to come out of his mouth, until one does. "I...don't think I have the focus that the team deserves," he says finally. 

Hoshikawa purses his lips. "You've always seemed pretty focused to me." 

"I'm stagnating." Hiyori shrugs, lets out a carefully steady sigh, trying to appear casual as he crosses his legs and leans forward slightly. "Everyone else is gearing up for next year's competitions, and I can't even get my time down. I know Ikuya and the others would feel bad kicking me off the relay team, but I'm really only going to hold them back." 

"Ah." Hoshikawa folds his arms. "So this is about Kirishima. I'm not really surprised." 

"It's..." Hiyori feels his face start to burn, and looks away. He'd hoped to get through this conversation without _that_ coming up, but what had he really expected? He's pathetically transparent. "Yes," he says. "I mean, that's a big part of it, but that's not everything." 

"You're saying you can't keep up at Kirishima's level," the captain says, and Hiyori nods. At least that much, he's managed to get across.

"So?" 

The short response throws him off-guard. He looks at the captain again, unsure what to say. It seems so obvious. 

"Kirishima has talent. He could very well end up competing internationally. I've heard you say that sort of thing about him yourself." Hoshikawa looks him up and down. "Has something changed? Were you planning to keep up with him?" 

Hiyori realizes that...he doesn't know. 

"I..." He wets his lips. He doesn't know how to address this question directly, so he goes for indirect. Like those conversations they have sometimes, on the really bad days, when Ikuya's bared his heart in a way he isn't expecting, and he needs to find _something_ , anything, to stave off the darkness threatening to take him over. Shouldn't it work, at least somewhat, on himself? "I've always...I'm competitive, but not like he is. I've never looked at the world playing field. Not for myself, anyway." His mouth twists, wry amusement. "I know I'm not _that_ good." 

Hoshikawa nods thoughtfully, but waits for him to continue. 

"I just...I've always focused on the next competition, on my teammates." Hiyori crosses his arms now, too; it's not nice, what he's about to admit, but he's done hiding the worst of himself. His captain deserves to see it, just like his teammates would if he were sticking around, so it might as well happen now. "It's like...the people around me were rungs of a ladder. I could see who was doing a little better than me, and I'd have something to aim for. I could learn little bits and pieces from everyone, and as long as I wasn't falling behind, I would be fine. I've always been lucky: I've been able to move near the top of the pack under my own power." He shrugs. "I was never the best of the best, either, but I never really wanted to be. Not like...a lot of you." 

"So what's different now is that you've realized you're surrounded by serious competitors," Hoshikawa says, and Hiyori nods. 

"Yeah, just about." 

"And what do you think the rest of your teammates are doing?" 

Hiyori bites his lip. "I know. I know not everyone is aiming to hit nationals or a global debut." 

Hoshikawa's chin dips, his stare stern. "So what makes you different?" 

"I'm friends with someone who _is_." 

Hoshikawa nods, slowly. "That's right," he says, as though he's just remembered. "You were put on that team because Kirishima asked for it." 

It's the sort of phrasing that should probably sting, but it's true. "It was fine as long as it was helping him adjust to swimming on a team, and I wasn't holding the others back." Hiyori shrugs. "But now everybody else's times are improving, and mine aren't. Some of the other guys have been improving a lot, too." 

"So explain to me again why that's a reason for you to quit the team, and not just switch out of Kirishima's relay." 

"Maybe I should just do that." Hiyori feels like he's deflating, limp and wavering. "But...I've never consciously done things halfway." He frowns at the coach, and even though he knows this next bit is illogical, he can't let go of it and he's not ashamed of saying it out loud. "It's unfair to the rest of you to be around here like that. You don't need that kind of energy."

He pauses when Hoshikawa snorts, folding his arms. 

"Is something funny?" he asks, a little offended. 

"You," he says, apparently unconcerned. "For someone who claims this team's strong, you sure think we'll get thrown off easily. How big a deal do you think you are?"

Hiyori's stung. "I'd rather not be a negative influence—” 

"You don't have to be at the top to be a good teammate." Hoshikawa looks him over. "You don't sound like someone who doesn't care enough about his teammates, Toono. You sound like you want to run away." 

Hiyori blinks up at him. "Do I?" he says. 

"You do." Hoshikawa stands, stretches his arms over his head. "So, you know, for now, I'm not going to accept your resignation. Sorry. You've got to earn it." 

Hiyori stares up at him. "Earn...?"

"Stagnating times aren't a good reason to kick someone off the team," Hoshikawa says. "You're allowed to have other things going in your life, you know, and even miss a practice every once in a while. Now, if you keep skipping without warning, like you did today, then our next conversation will be different." 

He reaches out a puts a hand on Hiyori's shoulder. Hiyori fights back a stiffens up, mostly surprised at being touched at all. "If you really wanted to quit, you wouldn't be this torn up about it," Hoshikawa says. "Now, that's just my hunch—I don't know what's going on in your head, Toono. But I don't think you know, either. Take a little while to figure it out, and then come talk to me again." 

"In the meantime," Hiyori says, "will you take me off the relay, at least?" 

"Only if your teammates agree to that," Hoshikawa says shortly, and removes his hand. "Which means you either talk things through with _them_ , not me, or you make yourself a problem."

As he gets up, Hiyori frowns a little bit at the quiet rebuke in Hoshikawa's answer. He _had_ told Ikuya first, but—Hoshikawa has no way of knowing that, and besides, he hadn't done it like a teammate. He'd done it like a friend looking for advice, and when Ikuya hadn't liked it, he'd thrown Ikuya's opinion back in his face. That wasn't what a good teammate did, much less a good friend. 

If he isn't leaving the team, then...he'll have to do better. Not that he hadn't wanted to before, but now there's no other option. 

"If you don't want to cause trouble—and I know you're not the type—you'll keep your head down and keep practicing," Hoshikawa says, echoing Hiyori's thoughts. "Keep thinking, too." 

"Understood." 

For someone who's kind of a hardass, and certainly hasn't gone easy on him for this conversation, Hoshikawa's answering smile is surprisingly kind. "Sometimes figuring out where you stand can take a little while, and I don't think you're there yet."

Hiyori hangs behind as Hoshikawa leaves, staring at the floor, and then slowly sliding back down onto the bench. 

Now what? 

* * *

When he leaves the gym, he's not actually looking around to make sure no one spots him anymore. He's still reeling inwardly, trying to process the way that conversation had just gone. He'd gone in nervous for one reason, and left for an entirely different one. 

So, he can't quit. Or, he could, but the options he's been given for how to do it would all only hurt Ikuya more. 

What is he supposed to do, then? 

Still nervous about going back to the dorms—he has no idea where Ikuya is, after all—Hiyori considers getting on a bus before thinking better of it and just...walking. There's a shopping center not too far off campus, and his feet take him in that direction out of habit, then turn him off toward a residential district after that, heading towards a café he's visited before. But then he spots some trees, and heads towards them on a whim. He finds a park, winces, moves on. The next set of trees he finds is in an old house, or maybe a temple, but now he sees something promising: a line of trees further in the distance. 

Finding the steep-sided, artificial riverbank is a relief. He goes and sits on the edge overlooking the water, and the traffic is far enough away that he can hear the water rushing below him. It's not quite the same as a river out in nature, and it's nothing like the seashore, but it was more than he had in the States. It's a tiny slice of peace in a world that's too busy, and he latches onto it with determination, trying to take some of that calm into himself. 

Ikuya's sorted for the moment, but Hiyori can't leave things the way they are right now, and he can't quit swimming. Which causes...more than one problem, but the source of most of the ones that remain is Kinjou. 

Or rather, his inability to handle Kinjou. 

He pulls out his phone and holds it loosely in both hands, thinking. Fantasizes briefly about throwing it into the river and walking away and never talking to anyone ever again. It would fix a _lot_ , but...

He doesn't actually want to. He doesn't want Ikuya to be angry with him. He wants Kisumi to be okay with him, when he's somehow gotten through this. He wants to talk to Sam. 

So...he has to do something about this. 

What _can_ he do? 

He has to stay on the team, or he has to talk the others into letting him go. Either one of those leads to conversations he doesn't want to have, because right now the only way to stop Kinjou from spreading things he doesn't want to share is to do it himself first. 

That would be the responsible thing. That's what he _should_ do, but...the thought of it makes the shaking worse, makes him feel physically ill and like he can't stand up. If he were strong enough to just be open about all that...but he's not, not yet. He's _maybe_ strong enough to tell them and quit, but if he can't quit afterwards...it's already so hard to look people in the eye. He's already so scared, and so tired, and he just can't. 

If neither of those options are acceptable, is there anything else he can do? Anything he can try, to prevent the unthinkable from happening? 

Staring down at the water, Hiyori thinks of the last time that he'd felt scared. It hadn't been as bad as this, but it had still felt like things were about to veer out of control. Because he could support Ikuya decently through high school, with the memory of Nanase and the others safely in the past, but away at school, with them trying to force their way back into Ikuya's life and drag him back into some of his worst memories...

Even if some things about this situation are worse than that had been, at the time it had terrified him. 

He could support Ikuya, but he hadn't been able to lock Nanase's group out entirely. Instead of forcing them away directly, he'd had to resort to other tactics—careful planning, and manipulation, and games. 

Kinjou's beaten him at every game he's initiated so far...

But Hiyori hasn't tried to play him _back,_ not yet. Not really. In hindsight, he probably should have started trying a while ago. 

It takes him a long time to work up the courage to open his phone, and then more time to compose a message. Kinjou reads it right away, but lets him wait for what feels like hours before composing a reply. 

It's almost a relief when Kinjou finally replies with a place and a time. Better still, the time is tonight—later than Hiyori would like to be off-campus, but at least he'll be able to settle this today. 

He's exhausted, suddenly. He's got a several hours, still, but he'll have to swing by his dorm to get what he'll need, and what if he's discovered, and he's so _tired_...

But that's a trap, and if he stops now, things are only going to get worse. He pushes himself up and takes the shortest route he can figure out back to the dorms. 

He has a way forward, now, but even though that's reassuring, Hiyori can feel himself starting to wear thin. There's a shiver running through him that he thinks he's imagining, but when he holds up his hand to prove it to himself, his fingers really are trembling, though it's only visible if he focuses. He folds his arms tight across his chest, trying to ignore it, and stays that way until he has to fish out his key. 

Since he was young, he's always been good at moving quietly, or at least at passing unnoticed. He trusts in that as he returns, since he doesn't exactly have a choice in the matter. 

If he sees Ikuya before he settles this, he doesn't know what he'll say. He'll have to be careful, that's all. Giving him the cold shoulder would hurt, but he's pretty sure a mixed message would be worse in the long run, so he'll have to cross his fingers and hope for the best. 

Luckily, he makes it there without incident, closing the door carefully and quietly and getting his things. 

He's too wound up to leave again right away, instead standing at his window, staring blindly out the bare inch of view through the drawn curtains. He doesn't get to stop, he tells himself. Not yet. He's not done, and if he stops, he might get stuck and not be able to start again. 

If he's right, Ikuya's being taken care of right now, but he can't know. Either way, the sooner he leaves again, the sooner he can prepare. 

If he's going to be at his best, he needs a square meal and some caffeine. He hasn't eaten since breakfast this morning, hasn't slept in over a day. He's risking a lot on a bad bet, but he doesn't want to put this off any longer. If he thinks too hard about what he wants to do, he gets the feeling he's going to back down. Taking refuge in audacity has worked well enough for him before...

...And besides, he isn't just scared, he's angry. Angry, and determined, and well beyond sick of all of this. Something tells him that he _can_ do this, and that's such a rare feeling lately that all he wants to do is grab it in both hands. 

He just wants this part to be over. Once he's finished this race, he can start figuring out what's going to come next. 

* * *

When Hiyori meets Kinjou outside the west door of Naribusawa's pool building, it's already been dark for a little while, a cloudy night with no visible moon. Kinjou's already waiting just out of the circle of light from a streetlamp, the glint of his teeth barely visible in the shadows. 

"So. How many rules are you breaking with this?" Hiyori asks, in lieu of greeting.

Kinjou's answer is ominously amused. "Don't worry about it." 

That's fine; Hiyori doesn't actually want to know. More than anything, he's curious whether Kinjou's heard about him pulling stunts like this before, and it's slightly reassuring that he apparently hasn't. Since they're on Kinjou's turf, Hiyori's risking less trouble than he was last time he did this. Besides, he can always claim that Kinjou set this up, and he's been been blackmailed into participating. It isn't even a lie. 

Even in his head, this reasoning sounds more than a little hysterical. When did this become his life? 

They go down a dark hallway and around a few corners, and emerge into the pool room. It's dark, too, but not so bad—there are lights shining through a wall that's mostly glass, streetlights and the glimmer of lights from adjacent buildings. The pool itself is also illuminated, albeit dimly, in a dim teal that's just short of painful in the low light. They won't quite be in plain view—the street lights outside and a hedge around the building should obscure them enough—but it's more open than Hiyori would like. 

"Kind of you to provide us with a venue," Hiyori says. "You've really gone to so much effort with all this. It's impressive, for someone who claims not to need anyone." 

Kinjou snorts. "I don't," he says. "This is just entertainment." 

"I _really_ don't think I'm that interesting." 

"No, you're _frustrating_." Kinjou steps forward and gets in Hiyori's face. This is nothing Hiyori wasn't expecting, so he holds his ground, unwilling to lose any this close to the poolside. "You just keep _clinging_ to Kirishima—” 

Hiyori steps forward, then, hopes Kinjou can hear the growl in his voice when he answers. "If your problem is with Ikuya..."

"It's not. You don't even have to get rid of him. All you'd have to do is stop following him around, and you'd have so much more energy." Kinjou shakes his head, looking disgusted. "The thing is, Kirishima's weak. He can't improve without someone to look up to, not to mention people like you propping him up." He leans in further. "You're _different._ The only connection you've got is the one that's holding you back. Any idiot could see that." 

"I don't know where you got that idea from," Hiyori begins, voice even, but Kinjou continues like he's hardly listening.

"When we were kids...you stood out. Not like you wanted to—I don't think anybody else got it. They were all so stupid and boring. All they cared about was everyone else thinking they were cool, or fast, or whatever. They weren't even that great. I never understood why they cared—only a loser would care about what all the other losers think. But you never cared. You just did whatever you wanted, and you weren't half bad." Kinjou shakes his head. "I always figured the others would grow up eventually. Figure out that none of that shit mattered. But they didn't—they got worse." He smiles down at Hiyori—actually _smiles,_ just nice enough to be creepier than ever. "It made me realize I should've given you more credit." 

Hiyori glares, feeling the cool, damp air prickle uncomfortably against his skin. "You're a hypocrite. You know that, right?" 

"Who cares?" Kinjou looks over at him and the spite returns to his grin, teeth flashing. It's a little like being stuck in a large room with a wild animal; watching him prowl along the pool's edge has the hairs on Hiyori's arms standing on end. "You decided to this little game too, you know. You're having fun right now, too, aren't you?" 

Hiyori's jaw clenches. "I didn't choose to be here," he says. 

"Oh, you had _plenty_ of choices," Kinjou purrs. "You just like competing enough that this is what you chose. That's what makes you interesting." 

"You keep insisting that I'm special, and then that I'm nobody," Hiyori says, cocking an eyebrow. "Make up your mind." 

"What if I wanted you to be my lackey instead of Kirishima's?" Kinjou asks, all easy malice. "I'd at least admit that's what I was doing." 

"You wouldn't recognize real loyalty if it bit you," Hiyori says, just as easily. "Besides, those aren't the stakes either of us are interested in, are they?" 

"Ah, yes. _Stakes._ " Kinjou looks wide awake for once, and excited. "What are you offering?" 

"If I win, I want you to leave me alone," Hiyori says. "Delete those pictures and pretend you never took them. No more spying, no more rumors, no more _threats_." 

Kinjou considers this for a long moment, and then grins."Say I agree. If you lose, what do I get?" 

Hiyori takes a deep breath, happy when his voice stays flat. "I'll quit my swim team—” 

"Boring," Kinjou says. "Don't make promises you won't keep. What's the point of that?" 

Hiyori keeps his temper under control with an effort. It was true that he didn't intend to fold that easily, even if he lost, but neither was there anything _fair_ about a match he hadn't wanted to agree to in the first place. "Fine," he says. "I lose, and you have my permission to show those pictures to anyone you want. Start whatever rumors you see fit—I won't deny them. I see you coming, I turn the other way. If you try to get me driven off my team, I won't stop you." He looks Kinjou in the eye, sharp. "Better?" 

"Not a very even trade—” Kinjou begins. 

"It's _perfectly_ even," Hiyori says. "Pictures deleted or pictures spread. If anything, it's weighted in your favor. I'm being magnanimous by playing along with any of this." 

"All that," Kinjou says, fire in his eyes, "and, _specifically,_ you'll help me get in touch with Kirishima." 

Hiyori stiffens, hating the way Kinjou's smirk only grows when he sees that reaction. "Help how?" 

"Oh, you know. His phone number, to start. His schedule, maybe, if it proves tough to get hold of him." Kinjou's smirk turns wicked. "His room number—” 

"Fuck off," Hiyori says sharply. "Don't push your luck, Kinjou." 

"Hmph." Kinjou eyes him for a long moment, and then spreads his hands in a gesture of faux generosity. "All right, I'll play along. Get me his phone number and tell him not to block me, and we'll call it even." 

"Me telling him wouldn't stop him," Hiyori says. 

"Oh, you never know," Kinjou says. "I can be pretty persuasive." 

The worst part is, he's probably got a point. Hiyori isn't sure Ikuya would walk away from a chance to argue with Kinjou, and really doesn't want to actually put it to the test. "Fine," Hiyori says. "You win, you get to continue your little vendetta against me; you lose, and you quit snooping around. Sound fair?" 

"Sounds fun," Kinjou says. "Now, what do you want to lose at?" 

Hiyori feels himself settle into his heels, going still. He's thought about this, but wasn't sure whether Kinjou would let him set the terms. "Eight hundred meter freestyle." 

Kinjou's brow quirks. "Interesting choice."

"It seemed appropriate." He could have gone for backstroke, but he didn't think Kinjou would agree. Instead, hopefully he can capitalize on the odd distance, one Hiyori suspects Kinjou hasn't been training for specifically. Besides, it's long enough that the winner and loser should be obvious. 

And honestly—Hiyori doesn't trust his ability to win a full 1500, _or_ a sprint. Eight hundred meters is probably his best chance, short of actually cheating—and he probably wouldn't be much good at that, either. 

It's a matter of seconds for Hiyori to drop his things and strip off his clothes, jammers on underneath. He wanders over to the pool, wets his cap and fits it on, wincing, over dry hair. 

"I'm trusting you not to jump first," Kinjou says, voice threading echoing off the far wall on its way to Hiyori's ears. 

He snaps on his goggles and steps towards the starting block, Kinjou reduced to a vaguely threatening blur at the corner of his eye. "With a race this length, if it's enough to make a difference, you'll definitely notice me trying to cheat." 

"Fine," Kinjou says. "Then you won't care if I'm the one to count off." 

"Go right ahead." 

It's darker here than he's used to. Instead of cool, faintly shadowed blue, he's diving into light that looks more and more fluorescent the longer he looks at it, something oddly alive and all too ready to swallow him. 

It's all right. He can do this. 

Hiyori positions himself on the starting block. "Take your mark," Kinjou intones, only a faint hint of a smirk in his voice, and Hiyori doesn't have time to consider whether he's joking as they bend in the same motion on the starting block. 

Then, Kinjou barks "Go!" and Hiyori pitches forward and into possibly the tensest race of his life. 

* * *

The second he breaks the water, everything changes. 

It's amazing how very little matters. There is a body in the water with him who wants to hurt him, who is wants to catch him and surpass him and make him suffer. He can stop that from happening by swimming. 

But he is—they both are—in the _water_. 

There's no one looking at him, here. There is nothing but the same old rhythm, the sensation of water up and down his body, and the water doesn't care. He's surrounded in it, hidden in it, safe, and only his goals matter. 

And his goal is to swim fast and long and hard, outpace his enemy, and survive. There's nothing simpler. 

That said, Kinjou is fast. He's also ruthless, and clearly not holding back. It's a long race. He's losing, but the only thing that matters right now is losing by _less_. 

The first turn goes all right, and the start of the second lap is the first time Hiyori has to consciously think about his breath. The burning's starting to set in, acid in his muscles complaining that this is difficult, that they're not getting enough to work with. It's just the first sting, light and familiar. He settles into it like it's a comfort. Of course this hurts. In a way, he's been waiting for it. 

He embraces it as he keeps moving forward—the edge of panic, the faintest and kindest type of pain. Turn after turn, lap after lap, him and Kinjou and the pain. And, through it all, Hiyori—not letting himself slow down, keeping his pace up no matter what. 

Kinjou's a full body-length ahead of him in lap three, but partway through lap four Hiyori sees the gap closing. In lap five, he's pretty sure his fingers are even with Kinjou's toes. The concreteness of it from there, every single centimeter and hand-length, is all he needs to push further than he would have thought possible a moment ago. 

He loses track of his eyes, for everything but the walls; even then, he feels himself settling into a rhythm, aware of how many strokes he has before he's likely to need to dive down for a turn. There is nothing in his head but numbers, rhythm, and the overwhelming push of _faster_. 

Just a little further, a harder kick, a faster pace. He's at Kinjou's shoulder, now, now past it, and it's getting harder to measure again. The numbers mean something, but nothing major yet. Nothing's certain. Can't he go any faster? 

Then he starts ignoring Kinjou, and it's a struggle to keep up the count. Even the bright lights of the pool start to go dark in his vision, as all that matters is every inch of him, this body under his control that he's going to push towards the absolute breaking point. 

This physical body, this thing that needs to go _faster, this_ is the only thing he controls. The only thing he's ever controlled, and usually it matters so very little, in the scheme of things. But right now, it is all he has, and it _matters_ , it can _fix_ things, it can _save_ him—

And it's going to be enough. 

He can't be sure, can't trust it, has to keep going further, faster. He's pulling ahead. No time to slack off now. Something will go wrong if he keeps concentrating. 

It kind of hurts. He hasn't had a proper breath in a little while. It feels like rather than swimming, he's burning. 

He's going to make it. He's ahead of Kinjou. He can't stop now, can't slow down even a little.

The last few strokes are all the time he allows himself to accept that he's doing well, but even then, he wills one more push into his muscles— _don't stop now, so close, just about to hit the number of laps, **go** —_

And he slams against the side, fingers stinging a bit as they hit the side at a higher velocity than he was honestly expecting. Reaching up blindly to cling to the lip of the pool, he feels that odd feeling that is weight flow back into his body. He is _burning_. His chin's above water, and he's drowning—first, briefly, in panic that he's miscounted, that Kinjou, surfacing, is about to cheer and gloat and say that he didn't finish correctly. Then he sees the glare on his face, and some part of him finally relaxes his vigilance and lets him focus on getting as much air into his protesting body as possible. 

Kinjou doesn't say anything for a long moment. The smile is long gone; even with his vision blurred, his glower is unmistakeable. A few breaths, and then he hauls himself up out of the pool, water splashing back in heavy rivulets off his back, his jammers. He's perched, crouching, one arm braced on the starting block, and cranes his neck to turn and look at Hiyori. 

For a brief moment, Hiyori wonders if he's got enough strength back to get up out of the pool, but he's got his body thoroughly under his control, and he finds when he pulls himself up that there was nothing to worry about at all. Apparently nothing is going to stop him from being dramatic.

The return to full gravity is rough, but he forces himself up anyway. The air feels unnaturally warm after the water, breathing both too easy and weirdly unproductive. He knows his chest is still working like a bellows as he chokes slightly and it's enough to make him wheeze, then cough once, twice. 

Kinjou's standing, now, surveying him with a bitter twist to his mouth. 

Hiyori goes over to his bundle of things, retrieves his glasses, and pushes them on, looping his towel around his shoulders as an afterthought. The dry, slightly scratchy fibers are reassuringly present around his shoulders. He sinks his fingers into them, tugging it down tighter around himself as he turns to Kinjou. 

"Good race," he calls over, voice mercifully even. His body is still oddly light, but he's not as breathless as he still feels. "I hope you'll uphold your side of our agreement." 

Kinjou's still standing by the water's edge, dripping, swim cap off and glaring in his direction. Hiyori's fingers clench at the expression, now that he can see it clearly.

"The second you _care_ about something, you got a lot better," Kinjou calls back, voice dripping with affected laziness. "You don't care about the sport at all, do you? You're just obsessed with Kirishima." 

Ah, so this _isn't_ over. Well, after all, why would it be that easy?

Hiyori stalks up to the pool's edge. He's dripping, but feels oddly warm in the air compared to the half-cooled water of the pool, and none of that matters at all as long as he has his footing and can step forward and stare Kinjo in the face. 

"You," he says easily, "don't scare me, Kinjo. But you know what I've finally realized? I think I scare you." 

Kinjo meets his gaze, face hard, that ever-present smile still in place. It makes Hiyori want to punch it, to punch _him_ or knee him in his gut, but his brain tells him that that's the least effective way of hurting him. 

It's not the first time he's tried to break an athlete on the poolside when they aren't even supposed to be there. He rather distantly hopes it'd be the last, but then again, he doesn't foresee himself making any real effort to avoid it, either, so maybe it won't be. 

"You're telling me I'm weak because I let other people hold me back," he says. "But that's not what I'm doing. I'm trying to be a good person." He pauses, waits for the words to hit, and only then steps forward. "Did it ever even occur to you to try?" 

Kinjo says nothing. 

"Yeah," Hiyori says, squaring his shoulders and regretting that Kinjou's too tall to loom over. "I'm strong. I'd be strong enough to carry Ikuya on my back for the rest of my life, if he needed that. But he doesn't. So I'm learning to step away." His lip curls. "If we're talking about people who can't _let go_ —” 

"You don't know the first thing about me," Kinjo says, and Hiyori instantly recognizes his own tone in them. Light, impersonal, aimed to cut. 

That tone, he realizes clinically, doesn't work if you don't care what's being said. "I know more than I care to," he answers mildly. "I'd really rather you stop making yourself a problem for me." 

"You think," Kinjo says, and he looms a bit, ice melting, making himself big and scary now, "You think you can just do whatever you want? Make all those sissy friends, ace all your classes, become a swimming pro, play Kirishima's babysitter, what? Write some _poetry_ while you're at it? Take up crocheting?" He shakes his head, grabs Hiyori's jaw. Hiyori squints at him, half flinch and half to see the look on his face. "There we go, can you see yet? Or do you need those glasses separating you from the real world?" 

Hiyori lets a smile curl onto his face. "What, you're saying you can't do it all? How sad for you." 

For a second, Kinjo's arm tenses, and Hiyori is sure he's about to be thrown back into the water. He prepares for it, sucks in a breath, even, waiting. 

It doesn't come. 

"One of two things are going to happen to you," Kinjo says finally. He doesn't release him. "You'll either find Kirishima dead on your watch someday, or you'll give up on him before that happens." 

They've been, Hiyori realizes clinically, fishing around, trying to get a rise out of each other. It's only obvious to him—suddenly, viscerally so—when Kinjo finds a point that hits home, piercing straight into the thing he could never bring himself to think out fully...and so never stopped worrying about deep down. 

"Everyone dies someday," he replies, tacitly acknowledging the hit. "The only thing I couldn't live with was if I knew he needed help and didn't put in an effort." 

Kinjou actually laughs. "You're too good for that to be true!" Hiyori blinks at him, caught off-guard, till he adds, "You'd never have risen above mediocre in swimming if you didn't know that what matters are _results_. It's fine to fail in swimming, but saving someone? Just once, and it's over." He looks amused at the prospect. "You've been holding yourself back all this time, haven't you? Can't put everything into competition if you're already busy playing lifeguard." 

Hiyori feels himself shiver, and he's mad—mad because he doesn't want to show weakness, mad because Kinjou is wrong, but not as wrong as Hiyori wants. "I don't need to anymore." 

"You say that. I don't think you _know_ it." 

Hiyori shrugs, and heads for the door. "You'll see, I guess." 

He keeps his eyes forward as he carefully retraces his steps to the door, very aware of Kinjou walking behind him. He doesn't want to be the last to leave the building, just in case he's got any last tricks up his sleeve. He suppresses a breath of relief as he leaves the building, and then freezes when he feels hot breath far too close to his ear. 

"You're gonna quit anyway, aren't you?" Kinjou murmurs, and Hiyori can hear the smirk in his voice, as aggravating as always. "That's hard to accept, but...oh well. I'll cope better with the loss than you will." 

Hiyori bristles, forces himself calm as he steps away. "You really ought to stop underestimating me. Or did I not just prove that to you?" 

"You proved my point for me, actually." Kinjou steps away, hands in his pockets, throwing his parting words over his shoulder. "I think I've finally got your measure, Toono. Pity." 

Hiyori feels his jaw clench, and asks, against his better judgment, "And what's that?" 

"You don't swim like someone who wants to win. You swim like someone whose head is barely above water." And then he leaves, one last smirk thrown over his shoulder as a parting shot. 

Hiyori doesn't let himself stare after Kinjou's back; he's been dismissed, and all he wants is to get home. 

Once he's sure he's out of sight, he pats at his pockets, pushes his glasses up his face, hefts his bag. He hasn't forgotten anything. He thinks he remembers his way out, so he makes his quick way to the exit. The door is easy enough to unlock from the inside, and he doesn't bother locking it up again. Kinjou can handle that much on his own, Hiyori is sure. 

He's startled when a small burst of cold pricks at his cheek as he heads straight out. Looking up, he sees that the rain has turned to...not snow, not quite, but maybe sleet? It's early in the year for things to freeze, and it shows no sign of sticking, but it's cold. He pulls up his hood, making a face at the feeling of cold, damp hair being pressed against his scalp. He still smells of chlorine, and is abruptly aware of every spot he didn't dry off properly as they sting with cold. 

It should be a relief that he's dealt with Kinjou—and it is, really. But he can't shake the feeling that even though it was a problem, it's only the first of many—and the rest are ones that he made for himself. 

It's dark and cold and silent, and it's going to be a long way back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Warnings** for death mention/discussion this chapter. Also, homophobia (more subtle than explicit, but there are some mild slurs involved), discussion of stalking, and general bad-headspace things. Oh, and actual swearing. Please take care. 
> 
> Notes: 
> 
> \- When I googled the different Olympic events, it said that the 2020 games were supposed to include the men's 800 freestyle for the first time, as well as the women's 1500. (Because of _course_ the longest women's event was half the length of the men's till now. Sigh.) I don't know about other events, though, so I'm extrapolating for Hiyori's reasoning here. I still don't know anything about competitive swimming, y'all. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! I've gotten so much support over the past few months from you lovely readers, and it brings me so much joy. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. ^-^


	19. Cascade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three conversations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Wow, that last chapter turned out kinda long.  
> This chapter: *slightly longer* 
> 
> And I've got a beta reader now! Massive thanks to my friend for looking over this chapter and helping me spot problems. Any errors that remain are, of course, 100% on me.
> 
> There's lots of talking about things in this fic/canon up till now, but nothing major or new, so the only warning I can think of for this chapter is swearing. (Also, if I'm doing my job right, um...tissues. Maybe.)

Hiyori wakes up even more tired than he was when he fell asleep, which shouldn't have been possible in the first place and is frankly unfair. It's later than he likes to get up on a weekday; he isn't late, thankfully, but he doesn't have very much time to do anything but drag himself out to face the day. 

The morning is overcast, cold and slightly damp, with a chill that feels like it's sunk into his bones before he even opens his door. He walks down the hill and gets a hot coffee from the vending machine on his way to class. 

He gets his test back. He did okay—not as well as he wanted, but not as badly as he'd feared. He's awake for the lecture, but by the time he leaves the classroom, he doesn't really remember it. 

When he finally gives in and peeks, there are messages on his phone. They'd better not be from Kinjou—and if they are, he'd be well within his rights not to answer—but he doesn't want to look at them anyway. 

He grabs a quick lunch, eating it on the way to the library, and hides in a chair in an out-of-the-way corner, reading. He eventually starts feeling more alert, enough to be frustrated with himself. 

He'd made real progress on fixing things yesterday. Why is it so hard to face anything today? 

At least here in the library—now almost deserted, compared to the week before, when it had been filled with students cramming—he can pretend that he isn't here, that he isn't anywhere in particular, that he's just foam on the sea. It's pleasant, pretending no one is expecting anything of him. 

Eventually, the sensation numbs him enough that he can brace himself and look at his phone. 

Just seeing that he has a message from Ikuya is enough to make his stomach turn over, so he ignores it for now. Instead, there's one from Sam, and for some reason—maybe because it's not _quite_ as bad— _that_ particular sting of guilt compels him to take a look.

_you doing okay?_

That's it, just one message—there's no way for Hiyori to guess what's going on behind it. He's had a very clear and recent wake-up call to how much Sam apparently worries, so he pushes through some of the guilt and exhaustion and replies, sending a small wall of text and sending it before he gives himself time to think about it.

He's doing okay. He almost messed things up, he's having a fight with his friend, but he thinks he's going to be able to fix things. Oh, and he's dealt with Kinjou, at least for now. He thanks Sam for his help with that.

Sam replies pretty quickly, pulling him into an actual conversation. He doesn't ask for too many details, which Hiyori is grateful for, but he manages to get Hiyori talking about the race anyway. Luckily, Sam seems to think it was cool instead of just reckless, and doesn't spend very much time scolding him for doing something risky.

(Had it actually been dangerous? Hiyori doesn't know. He doesn't think that it was; Kinjou scares him, but it isn't exactly that kind of fear. That didn't mean it had been a good decision—he could still have gotten into trouble, and sneaking around isn't exactly wise, but...well, at this point there doesn't seem to be much more point to dwelling on it anymore. It ended up okay.)

But then Sam asks, _how are you holding up now though?_ , and Hiyori draws up short.

He hasn't really been thinking about it, is the thing. He's been too focused on fixing things, on gathering whatever energy he has and forcing himself forward. When he thinks about it, he...doesn't really like the answer.

 _Mostly okay,_ he answers. _Really tired, though, and I'm not even done with all of it yet. I might not be able to make it off-campus for a little while._ Right now, even with relatively little to keep track of, getting through the rest of the week feels like something he knows he'll do but can't imagine.

 _that's okay,_ Sam answers. _Rest!!! we'll still be here when you're feeling better_

He feels bad about ditching the group for longer than he'd promised, and he misses them...but Sam says they'll be okay with him when he comes back. That's...really reassuring to hear.

He doesn't forget to check in, either. _How about you? Are you feeling okay?_ He doesn't know how to phrase the specifics of what he's asking.

Fortunately, Sam picks up on it just fine. _i'm dealing. Nothing I haven't handled before. I...talked to Tiff a bit, too, like I said I would. She and Emi said they’d let me play third wheel some this week, haha_

The mental image is a sweet one. Tiff and Emi are good people, and while Sam could probably have chosen anyone out of their little group to confide in, Hiyori thinks he made a good choice.

He recommends Kisumi's basketball group, too, and Sam sends him a few amused emojis and an agreement to consider it. Maybe physical exercise can be a way to take his mind off things for a little while, after all. (Hiyori would take that advice himself, but...well, he's kind of more than got that covered.) 

But even more than that, he suspects that Kisumi's sunny, no-pressure personality could be a balm for Sam right now. He kind of wishes he could get over there to talk to Kisumi himself, but he doesn’t really have it in him at the moment.

He gets up and goes back to his dorm. Ikuya’s out of his class already, and Hiyori’s avoided him too long as it is. He already knows a lot of what he needs to say; he’s just avoiding saying it. 

He gets to his dorm and, screwing up his courage, looks at the message. 

_can we talk_

That’s it. Well, Ikuya doesn't usually send very long messages.

Hiyori goes to reply, and then freezes, staring at the floor. He needs to do this, but...it’s hard. Just remembering the way Ikuya had looked at him last time makes his chest feel tight, his throat feeling like it’s going to seal shut. The idea of talking to him _again_...

...But he has to. He owes Ikuya an explanation, and an attempt to make things better. He hates that he’s hurt him the way he has, never meant for it to happen. 

What if he does it again? 

Hiyori clenches his jaw, forces himself to pace around in his room—anything to avoid freezing up entirely. 

When that doesn’t help, he sits down on the edge of the bed, and pulls up a different number. 

If he’s so worried about messing up, then maybe some insurance will make things easier. 

* * *

He's not sure how much he's going to need to explain, and he'd rather handle it in person. He doesn't know Makoto's schedule, but hopefully if he's busy he'll let a call go to voicemail. The idea of trying to put this into text is...he doesn't know how not to do it without being alarming. He writes a few messages, and maybe he's overthinking it, or maybe it's that he's met Makoto, but they all sound more worrying than they need to be.

So, annoyed with himself, he calls. He's a little alarmed when he actually picks up, though.

"Hiyori?"

And then more alarmed a second later, because that's _not_ Makoto's voice.

"...Um," he says, and then pushes on. "Is this Nanase? I'm sorry, I was hoping for...Tachibana-kun..." 

"This is his phone," Nanase answers. "He was out of the room, so I answered. What's up?"

"Uh." This was not where he'd thought this conversation would go. Hiyori quickly reviews where he'd wanted to go with this conversation—he'd thought it out roughly halfway before he'd felt himself losing courage and forced himself to start the call. "I guess...I was hoping to apologize."

"Why?"

Nanase is, weirdly, maybe a little easier to understand over a phone. He seems a little confused. "I was just...the games I played with all of you were...unfair to you," Hiyori manages. "I was thinking specifically of Tachibana-kun, because I made him race me and that's not a fun thing to be forced into, but...I owe you one even more, really."

"I'm listening."

It doesn't _sound_ like he's gloating, but...Hiyori despairs of hard it is to figure out what's going on his head. He's not good at that in general, but with Nanase it's just ridiculous.

He's managed it before, though. That's exactly the problem. If only it was as easy to trust himself to say the right thing when he's trying to be _nice_ for once...

"The things I said to you...I didn't say them because they were true." He's had no time to think about this and he's working blind, with no way to gauge whether he's saying the right things. "I said them because I was trying to hurt you."

"...Hm."

It's barely more than an acknowledgement that he's been heard. "I..." Hiyori needs to explain more, but he's never actually tried to explain this. "I'm...very good with words, but not very good with emotions. I was trying to hurt you, and that was wrong....but I don't think what I said was right. I think it might be something you believe, though. So I wanted you to know...after swimming with you, I'm pretty sure what I said was factually incorrect."

There's a long pause, during which Hiyori can hear nothing except his own internal screaming. "Thank you," Nanase says finally, voice completely neutral. Hiyori's fishing around for something to say next when, shockingly, he continues. "How...have you been?" 

"I..." How can he even begin to explain himself to someone like Nanase? "I'm...getting by," he says. "Um. I was going to talk to Tachibana-kun about this, but. I'm going to apologize to Ikuya. If it goes badly, can I call you all in again?" He swallows. "I know it's not your job to look after him or anything, but I know he really...appreciates your support." 

"Of course," Nanase says, promptly and confidently. It's surprising, but that short answer—from _Nanase_ , of all people—is actually reassuring. 

"Thank you," Hiyori adds, and then, spurred by an unknown impulse, "I can see why Ikuya looks up to you so much, Nanase." 

"...He overdoes it." 

Surprised, Hiyori chuckles. He has the impression that the answer hadn't come out quite as dry as Nanase intended. "He might," he agrees. "I'm not sure he'll ever admit that, though." 

"Maybe someday." A short pause, and the sound of a hand covering the speaker. A second later, he returns. "Do you want to talk with Makoto now?" 

Hiyori nods, even though no one can see it. "If he's back, then yes, please." 

"Okay." 

There's a brief shuffling, and then a new voice comes on, a little loud after several minutes of Nanase. "Hiyori?" 

"Hello, Makoto. Nanase answered the phone for you." 

"I know," Makoto says, apparently unbothered by this. "We've been worried. How are you?" 

Oh god, they're both in on it. Well, he should have expected this, coming from Makoto. "I'm getting by," he says. "I actually wanted to ask you a favor." 

"What is it?" Makoto asks. Even the way he says it sounds like he's already agreed. It's a little exasperating; how does this guy survive all the jerks out there in the world? Hiyori should definitely count as one of them, so why is Makoto so incautious? 

"I'm...going to try to talk things out with Ikuya," Hiyori says. "If it goes badly...well, I'm hoping it won't, obviously, but he can shut himself off when he gets upset. I wanted to let you know that I'm trying, so..." 

"We'll have his back," Makoto says immediately. "He told us he wants to talk to you, too. I think it'll be okay, but we'll be there, either way." 

It's a relief to hear that. "Thanks," Hiyori says. "And sorry. About all this, and about jerking you around before, with the race and everything. You really didn't deserve it." 

"You apologized for that already," Makoto says mildly. 

"Well, I have been causing you new problems lately," Hiyori says lightly. "It's a shame Ikuya's so far away from all of you—having you around is so good for him." 

"You're good for him too, you know." There's a long pause. "I think...you need to give Ikuya a little more credit, Hiyori."

Hiyori takes a suddenly-shaky breath. He's only heard it a few times, but the way Makoto's voice goes all gentle and serious like that has always thrown him for a loop. "What do you mean?"

"If you're having a hard time...he wants to be there for you," Makoto says. "That's what friends are for."

"...Okay," Hiyori says, and wow, he kind of needs to end this conversation. Still, not wanting to be rude, he adds, "Thanks again. I'll, uh, stay in touch."

"See you soon," Makoto says warmly, and then Hiyori stares down at his phone for an awkward couple of seconds before thumbing the "end call" button. He lets his phone fall to one side and draws his knees into his chest, suppressing the urge to yell profanities or possibly just combust on the spot.

That hadn't gone quite the way he had planned...or it had, technically, but adding Nanase into the mix was just...and then with what Makoto had said....

 _Ugh._ He slumps over onto his side. His head feels like it's too full of emotions, blank and buzzing, and not even the guilt is enough to get him out of it for several minutes.

* * *

When the feeling finally starts to subside, he picks up his phone and sends a message, because he can't think of any good reasons to put it off any longer.

It doesn't take long for his phone to buzz with Ikuya's return message. He pulls it out, looks it over, answers on reflex. Ikuya will be here in fifteen minutes.

It feels, he thinks, a little bit like how it would be to watch an avalanche from inside a cabin at the foot of a mountain. Or like watching a tidal wave come in from the shore, knowing he's caused the disturbance that set it in motion and knowing that he's not allowed to flee.

It doesn't feel like it's all about to come crashing in on him, though. Logically, he knows he's probably about to get into another argument, maybe a bad one, but he can't feel it. Everything about this situation just feels...abstract. Even though he knows that right now, Ikuya really is coming to see him; is literally walking towards him as he lies sideways on his bed, staring at the wall.

He's supposed to be fixing things, but he doesn't know how he's going to get through this conversation, even though what he has to say is fairly simple. It's hard like that, when you have to talk about things that people never wanted to hear.

He was more frightened the first time. At least this time, the upshot is something that Ikuya probably wants.

He plays a game of tug-of-war with himself. He doesn't know how far away Ikuya is, and he should make tea, or coffee, before he comes. But his body won't move.

He considers how it will feel to be an awkward, inconsiderate host when he knew Ikuya was coming in advance. He knows Ikuya won't judge him for it the way he judges himself, and yet. He doesn't want to imagine Ikuya's vague impatience and frustration, things he could prevent if he could just _move._

He knows he can; but not yet. So he pushes and pulls against himself, feeling the way his body is pulled relentlessly against the bed by gravity, a pull that he resists every second of his life...except when he's swimming.

Maybe that was part of it, he thinks listlessly, why he likes swimming. It's a partial release from all that weight.

If this goes badly...or even if things continue as they are...will he come to hate competing someday?

He can't quite imagine that, but at the same time, it seems like the logical thing to happen. He's so _tired_.

Eventually he loses himself long enough to jolt back to himself, realize that he probably _really_ doesn't have time to make drinks, which he'd wanted to do, and push himself off the bed—and that's when he hears Ikuya knock.

Here it is, then—the outcome he'd predicted. He's usually pessimistic rather than realistic in his estimates of time—or maybe he zoned out for longer than he thought.

(He hopes Ikuya hasn't been hurrying.)

He opens the door, smiles at Ikuya when he sees him. Ikuya's is a hard face not to smile at, even with the expression he's wearing, and Hiyori can't blame that entirely on habit.

"Ikuya." He steps back.

"Hiyori. Sorry for the trouble," Ikuya says as he steps inside, but it's a reflex, the same thing he says every time he comes to visit, and he's already toeing off his shoes in the entryway. Hiyori feels his tongue curl in his mouth. It's the first time he's come anywhere close to feeling uncomfortable with Ikuya in his space. He could never say that, of course, but just feeling it is painful enough.

"I can make tea," he says woodenly. "Or coffee."

"Go sit." It's a command, but a soft one. "I'll handle it."

It's his dorm, and Hiyori's usually the one that makes drinks for the both of them regardless of where they end up, but Hiyori just nods, and curls up numbly in front of his table. 

Too soon, Ikuya comes back with the tea, and Hiyori tries again, with little luck, to pull himself back out of his ruminating. Ikuya hands him a cup of tea, plain green, hot enough that it has to be handled gingerly. Hiyori holds onto his cup until it starts to hurt, staring into the steam, and then reluctantly sets it down.

When he looks up, Ikuya is already settled on the other side of the table. His arms are crossed tightly against his chest.

"There's something you should know," Hiyori blurts, because he has to get this part out early, wants to avoid the worst sorts of misunderstandings that could happen.

"What's that?" Ikuya asks, carefully neutral.

"I'm not quitting."

Ikuya blinks and straightens, arms loosening slightly. "What?"

He looks...more surprised than Hiyori had expected. He glances down at his tea again, still too hot to touch, and begs his voice not to fail on him. "Don't get me wrong. I, uh, I talked to the captain about it. He said he...wouldn't accept my resignation."

"...Good." Ikuya bites his lip, fidgets, as it's Hiyori's turn to stare. "But, I mean, why?"

"He said he didn't think I meant it," Hiyori said softly. "That if I wanted to leave the team, I'd need to 'make myself a problem.'"

Ikuya puzzles that out, frowning. "So..." He sweeps his legs to one side, rests an elbow on the table. It's a more settled position, but still tense. "I came by to tell you not to quit, but...I guess I don't need to anymore." He fixes Hiyori with a look. "Unless you're planning to do what Hoshikawa said."

"No," Hiyori says, "you don't need to worry about that. I couldn't." He sighs. "But...there's still something we should talk about. It just...doesn't have to be now, anymore."

Ikuya straightens a bit, watches him. "What is it?"

"I can't stay on your relay team forever."

Watching Ikuya after that sentence is interesting. He's always been easy and hard to read, by turns, and this is one of the latter times. His eyes widen, he leans forward, his bangs fall in front of his eyes and are pushed back. He gets that thousand-mile stare that means he's thinking through something, more intensely than Hiyori can reach.

Hiyori does know that look, even if he doesn't understand it. He falls silent and waits. Anything else he said, Ikuya would likely be unable to hear anyway.

"Is that what's been messing you up?" Ikuya says finally. Hiyori still can't read his tone at all. "Your times? Or...mine?"

Hiyori frowns. "No, this isn't your fault. It's me." He shakes his head, pretending he's not trying to avoid Ikuya's stare. "I can't...get my heart in the right place, I guess. I'm going to try to fix it, obviously, because that's part of not being a problem. I even think I'll eventually get there. I just..."

He laughs, trying to keep the moment light. Self-deprecation comes easy, smooths things over. "You shouldn't let anyone hold you back, Ikuya. Especially not me."

When he glances up, Ikuya is still staring at him.

"...No," he says. 

Hiyori's confused. "No, what...?" 

"No, you don't get to keep doing this," Ikuya says. His voice is cold and the anger in it is palpable, enough that Hiyori wants to shrink back. "You keep hiding things from me, and I'm sick of it." Ikuya plants his other hand on the table, and leans forward, elbow precariously close to his mug. "Why won't you talk to me? We're supposed to be friends, and friends don't lock each other out." 

Hiyori shrugs, trying to keep casual, deescalate the situation. "Well, we were...a weird sort of friends, really." 

From looking angry, Ikuya now looks confused. "What does that mean?" 

"Well..." Hiyori pauses, awkward now at having to point the problem out in so many words. "Did you…ever actually want to be friends with me? Like, the way we are now. Not just acquaintances, or team members."

He can't bring himself to look at Ikuya's face, so instead he watches Ikuya's chest rise precipitously, and then fall. "What?" 

"I...kind of forced myself on you," Hiyori says, and his eyes can't stay on Ikuya's face, either. He glances at the table under his arms, towards his barely-textured, featureless wall. There's a humorless smile playing around his mouth, and he's given up fighting his face's whims for the time being. "For years, really. I figured, after what happened that day…well…you needed someone. I wasn't enough, but I was there. Your brother even asked me to stay close to you, so I had permission to do it." He steals a glance at Ikuya again; he looks more thoughtful now than offended. "I think you probably would have stopped me if you hated it, but I never really asked you how you felt about it, either." 

Ikuya hums slightly, a half-hearted assent. "Is that why you hung out with me, then? You felt an obligation, after what happened?" 

It's a tiny part of the truth, but not the whole of it. Hiyori dismisses it with a snort. "Are you kidding? I was desperate for the excuse." 

Ikuya's staring at him again, and his eyes skitter away at the intensity of the stare. "What do you mean?" he asks, finally.

"I was, you know…a pretty lonely guy." Hiyori sips gingerly at his tea. He has to sneak up on the truth sideways, it seems, for it to slip out without overwhelming him and sticking on the way out. "I didn't know how to make friends, and my parents were never home." Getting harder. He takes a shallow breath into his chest and rasps out, "Hanging out with you after the hospital was the most I'd hung out with anyone."

Ikuya blinks at him. "Oh."

"People didn't really talk to me," he says. "You did. Even before…that day, you talked to me. When I'd realized you'd done that even though you were hurting…"

It had taken him a while to put it together, Ikuya being his first friend and all. But it had also been a realization that only solidified what he'd already knew: he was going to do his best to get Ikuya through anything the world would throw at him, because Ikuya was amazing.

"It meant a lot," he finishes, lamely. "That's what I mean. You say you weren't a good friend, but you're the only friend I've ever had at all."

"The only best friend, maybe," Ikuya argues. "The others on the team are warming up to you, you know."

"Really? I'll have to take your word for it." His tea has almost stopped steaming, a bright, slightly dangerous burn against his lips and tongue as he sips, gingerly. "I guess, lately...you remember how your brother took back the thing he said, about looking after you?"

Ikuya frowns immediately, expression cold with remembered disapproval. "Yes."

"Well, you're okay now, and...I'm finally realizing how scared I was that I was going to fail." Hiyori spreads his hands, willing Ikuya to understand. "Again, that's really not on you, but it's...maybe part of the reason I've been so weird, lately. I'm sorry." 

"…I see." Ikuya makes a complicated face. "I was hoping to talk to you about that at some point," he says, quiet. "That was a pretty awful thing my brother said to you back then, wasn't it?"

Hiyori swallows, but manages a small laugh. "It had an awful side, yeah. …I don't regret it, though."

"I'm starting to." When Hiyori dares a glance at Ikuya, he's looking ahead, frowning. He recognizes Ikuya's "thinking hard" face and settles back, patient. "But I wanted to ask you about that, too, actually. What my brother said. Asking for your help wasn't the only thing."

And suddenly, he's not introspective anymore; he's the new, oddly open Ikuya again, the one who Hiyori is so happy for but is still getting used to. "Hiyori…who pulled me out of the water, that second time? Second for me, I mean."

"In America?"

"Yeah."

He tenses, and he knows Ikuya can see it because he does too, a second later. "…It was me," he admits, and then adds, "Well. I had help. I couldn't lift you out of the pool on my own. I could barely even get you to the side. And you were already out by the time I got to you, so…"

Ikuya's starting to look indignant again. "Why didn't you say?"

"You told me that no one came for you," Hiyori says, and tries to lay it out straight, the cowardice that had waylaid him in that moment. Ikuya deserves honesty. "If I'd noticed sooner, or gotten to you faster, then you would've known that wasn't true. But I wasn't the friend that rescued you before, and I know that he was the one you really wanted." He shrugged. "It didn't seem like a smart point to argue. I didn't want to be a cheap replacement." He smiles a little bit, and it's wry instead of bitter. He hopes Ikuya can tell the difference. "I knew better than to try to compete with Nanase. Even back then."

The silence that follows is a little bit terrible, and slowly shading towards the worst thing that's happened so far on this terrible string of days, and it occurs to Hiyori, slowly, that he's said more than a little too much. Ikuya pulling away from him isn't even really the first clue.

He can't quite bring himself to look at Ikuya at first, but when he does, Ikuya's head has bent forward, hanging over his elbows on the table like he's carrying the accusation in Hiyori's words as a weight on his back. His hair hides his eyes. It's a position of hurt, but also of tension, and for a moment all Hiyori wants is to avoid disturbing him further.

And then Hiyori runs over the last few things he's said, in his head, and pauses, and frowns.

"…But you know," he adds, slowly, "I probably should have."

Ikuya raises his head.

"I was…oh." Hiyori rubs his face with his hands, under his glasses. He's frustrated, he realizes, and ashamed of himself, but now that he's realized this he already feels lighter. "Fuck. Of course."

"What is it?" Ikuya asks, lowly, and Hiyori chuckles. He knows he sounds sad, and more than a little off, but it _is_ funny, how stupid he's been all these years.

"You know what?" he says, a lopsided smile dragging his head down by the corner of his mouth. "I was too proud. I was too proud to say that I tried to save you."

Ikuya bites his lip, looking so confused.

"Because, you know, if I'd just _admitted_ it—” Hiyori's thinking aloud so the break in his voice surprises him. He coughs a bit, and continues. "If I'd done that, even I would've had to tell you I failed, you would've known someone tried." He looks up at Ikuya, knowing his voice is uneven and his eyes are starting to well up of their own volition and he feels so, so guilty for what he's done, holding that truth back for so long, but at the same time it feels like a decade-old wound is finally lanced and stinging in the open air. "That would've helped, wouldn't it? Even if it wasn't enough."

"Hiyori…"

Ikuya's hand reaches out, and Hiyori can't help but pull away slightly, drawing further into himself. 

"I'm sorry," he says, voice barely above a whisper. "I...that was too much to put on you. I'm just glad you were there, you know? That you let me be there." 

"It isn't too much," Ikuya says, too fast. He's leaning halfway over the table now, up on his knees, looking desperate. "Whatever you have to say, I'll listen. I owe you that much, at least. I owe you a lot more than just that, but—” 

"I don't want you to _owe_ me!" 

He's horrified, briefly, at how violent the words come out; he hadn't been expecting that angry reaction, doesn't know where it came from. If Ikuya had been any closer to him, he might have shoved him. As it is, his arms are clenched tight at his sides, fingers digging into his ribs, and he can feel himself trying not to shake. He deliberately pulls up his knees and wraps his arms around them, unthreatening and safely blocked off. 

The truth is, he _had_ wanted that, in his weakest moments. That's exactly why Ikuya saying it stings. 

He'd hoped that someday, he might find he'd done enough for Ikuya to feel connected to him. He thought if he'd shoved everything inconvenient about himself into a corner, if he'd been the perfect friend and confidant and protector, if he'd done everything just right and Ikuya had somehow become okay again, then maybe…just maybe…he'd have a moment where Ikuya would support him, too. 

And that's not how it works. He knows that, now. He doesn't want to cash in on this debt that he's let accrue, that he's built up and dangled over Ikuya's head for years as some kind of twisted blackmail. Because if he calls that debt, there is no way Ikuya won't see what a manipulative freak he's been over the years, and then he really will lose him for good. 

_All I want is to be enough_ , he thinks, and I can't be that. I never will be. 

Because he can't be Ikuya's Haru. Worse, he's not even a good person. He's been a functional caretaker, mostly through trial, error, and necessity, but now Ikuya's real friends have swooped in and fixed things, and there's no need for someone like him in Ikuya's life anymore. It's really only a matter of time until Ikuya realizes it.

None of what he did for Ikuya is enough to make up for what Hiyori has done to him, let alone what he hates himself for wanting to do.

He can't ask Ikuya for support, at least not like this. Maybe in small doses, if friendship really is meant to be give-and-take, if that's part of what they're missing. But he's let all this build up for far too long, and if he drops it all in one giant bombshell there's no way his tiny, pitiful efforts at connection will survive the onslaught. 

He's not even angry, anymore, as Ikuya stares at him, eyes wide and sadder than he ever wanted Ikuya to look at him, especially for something that he's done to himself.

He's just scared. He's terrified. This is going to hurt so much.

"Then," Ikuya breathes, finally, "never mind owing, but please, just tell me. Tell me how I can help. You're my friend, Hiyori. Please."

"I'm not, though, am I?"

The words rush out before he can stop them—not high and angry, which he’d been guarding against, but instead a low, muttered thought that slips out of his mouth before he even realized he'd let himself think it.

Ikuya freezes. And looks sad, devastated; it's such an open look, different from the dull despair of years before, but Hiyori can still hardly bear it. "You are. Of course you are." A pause. "I'm sorry I made you feel like you weren't."

Something warm covers his hand. It takes him a moment to realize it's Ikuya's own.

When was the last time Ikuya reached out to him, like this?

"We…" Ikuya stalls out, takes a breath, keeps on. Holds Hiyori's shocked gaze like it's the easiest thing in the world. "We talked about my problems so many times. I didn't always want to, when you offered, but you were always there when I did. You listened even when I went over the same things over and over, no matter how many times I repeated myself. You tried so hard to cheer me up. You were always there for me." He frowns at Hiyori, and it's so earnest and so kind that Hiyori can't bear it. "Why won't you let me do the same for you?"

"I don't deserve it," he says, thickly. It's just as true, and hurts less than, _You won't want to._

"You think I did?" Ikuya looks incredulous. "All I did for years was ignore you and push you away, and you came back anyway. Always. No matter how selfish I got, or how…how ungrateful I was." 

Ikuya's breathing hitches, and Hiyori is horrified. He hasn't even said anything yet. How can Ikuya be getting upset when he's hardly even said anything? 

"I was never…never a good friend to you, Hiyori," Ikuya says, and there's sorrow deeper than the ocean in his face, a sadness that's numb like drowning. The worst part is, Hiyori recognizes it, instantly. It's not as bad as it was before, but this time it's his fault. "I was never even a good team member." 

The words are a knife to the heart—like Ikuya's plucked it from his unwilling fingers and even though his pain is obviously directed inwards, Hiyori's feels like he's the one who's been stabbed.

Ikuya was his whole world, is a huge part of his life even now that he has to share him, and the terrible cruelty of those words, how untrue they are, breaks him. "That's not true," he whispers, and bursts into tears for the second time that day.

It's a little like a storm on the ocean, a little like drowning. Not the real thing, of course, but the start of it; for one, he can't seem to draw a good breath. For another, the rasp of him trying to breathe, the noises he's making, seem to be drowning out Ikuya's voice, even if it's the only thing he wants to hear, what feels like his only lifeline.

It's different from when he was crying alone, before. Different because before there was nothing but himself to focus on. If that was like sinking, this is like bobbing helplessly on the waves; he's a tiny vessel about to capsize, and every time he blinks he can just about make out Ikuya through his tears. It should be reassuring, knowing that there's someone here with him, and in a way it is.

It's also more frightening, in its way. Being seen. Breaking the surface over and over, before sinking right back down into his own personal darkness.

His glasses are gone. It takes him a moment to see straight enough to realize that Ikuya has plucked them off, set them off to the side on his table. He hears them clatter against the tabletop, and quickly Ikuya's hands are on him again, on his shoulders, guiding him to lean back against the side of his bed. He pushes away Hiyori’s hair where it's falling towards his eyes. He's let it overgrow, he thinks distantly.

He's not sure how long they sit like that, as he desperately tries to get himself under control, before Ikuya speaks again. "Hiyori…" He sounds lost, and afraid. It's just another sign, to Hiyori, that he has already ruined everything.

He should be out of tears by now, or close to it, but though they're not flowing that hard, he can't find it in himself to stop the sobbing. He tries to at least stay quiet about it this time.

"I'm," he starts, and can't continue. Maybe this is where the story ends, where he shakes himself apart and never speaks to anyone again, where he just loses…everything.

Is there a life for him, a future, without Ikuya in it? There is, he knows instinctively, but in it he's alone. This, right here and now, is the closest he ever gets to another person. Because the sea foam isn't where the story ends; in the book, the little mermaid ends up as something like a ghost. Unable to be seen by or influence the people around her, she waits for the good deeds of children to earn her a soul and carry her to the afterlife.

He can see himself becoming a ghost, but right now he's a poltergeist, causing chaos and ultimately only delaying the inevitable.

"Hiyori, what do I do?" Ikuya's voice is tiny, and his eyes are huge, so big that they fill up Hiyori's blurred vision. "Tell me how I can help. Please."

"Just…stay." It's more than he deserves, but if Ikuya is asking…all he wants is for him to be here a little longer, until this ends, until he can somehow give it up. 

"I'm here. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere, hey." Consternation is written plain across his face, over top the concern. He squeezes Hiyori's hands. "Can...can I hug you? Will that help?"

"S-sure." He's not sure it will, but at the moment he can't bring himself to deny anything Ikuya is offering.

And…oh.

 _Oh,_ he's dissolving in earnest now, because he's had a few hugs in his life, rarely, but he can't remember the last time he was hugged like _this_. In fact, it's probably never happened.

Ikuya is small, but he's strong—arms wrapped tight around his shoulders and upper arms, so that it's impossible to reciprocate the gesture, and one hand reaching up to the back of his hair, and Ikuya's chin hooked over his shoulder. His grip is like a vise, holding Hiyori up as much as the bed frame at their backs. Hiyori can feel tremors running through his body and isn't sure who they're coming from.

It's impossible to deny, suddenly: even if he's about to lose Ikuya forever, right now, in this moment, he is undeniably here.

The sobs get quieter, but somehow, impossibly, it feels like he's crying harder.

He reaches back with everything he has, and Ikuya mercifully shifts his grip to let him move his arms. He crushes their rib cages together. Something so uncomfortable shouldn't feel so good, but to have Ikuya here, under his arms, to feel him breathing and his heartbeat and the flutter of breath against the back of his head…

Hiyori loves him so much he can't breathe. He kind of couldn't breathe before anyway, of course, but the sentiment is still there.

"I'm sorry," Ikuya says, lowly, and Hiyori's heart drops until he realizes that he's not pulling away, he's holding him closer. His voice is tearful. "All this time, I've never been here to support you, not like you've supported me. Did…did I do this?"

"No. No, I…" He's not looking Ikuya in the face, and Ikuya isn't going anywhere, and suddenly he can do this, he can speak. "I wouldn't have known what to do if you'd tried. I don't…I've never had anyone like you before, I was always by myself, I don't, I can't connect to people. All I can do is try to help."

"You helped me so much. You were with me when no sane person would've bothered."

"I feel like the mermaid," Hiyori blurts out. Then he adds, sheepish, "Is that stupid?"

Ikuya pauses. "You're not," he says, softly, and Hiyori feels his ribs creak under Ikuya's grip as it tightens. "Please don't go anywhere."

"I just…I wanted…I wanted to be a person." The words are soft, miserable. "I'm not, not like other people are. I'm just somehow always by myself, and so when I found someone I had an excuse to follow around…"

Ikuya squeezes him again, gentler. "Is that why you were with me?"

"It's not the only reason." The lump is back in his throat, and he rubs his irritated eyes against Ikuya's shoulder. He's going to have to offer to wash his sweatshirt for him, how embarrassing. Assuming they ever speak to each again after this, of course. "I really do mean what I've said all those times. I think you're amazing. I'm sorry if I said it so much it seemed like I didn't mean it."

"You…" Ikuya pauses. "Don't be stupid. I was listening. I liked hearing it, even."

"Then I'm glad I did something right, at least."

"Hiyori," Ikuya said, suddenly reprimanding.

"Sorry." But this, Hiyori realizes, is the sticking point, the thing he can't quite seem to get over—the things he’s messed up, and how important it is for Ikuya to realize that he needs to do better. "I shouldn't have tried to control you, either. I've done it for too long. I'm trying to stop doing it." 

"And I need to learn how to take care of you a little more," Ikuya says right back, frowning. "If you'll let me." 

"I'll…try." Hiyori sighs. "You take a lot of bullshit from me with good grace, didn't you?" 

"Don't sell yourself short. You're really good at being supportive." Ikuya reaches around him, squeezes his shoulder. "I like that. Have I mentioned that? Sometimes it can be a bit…overwhelming, but the little things I really like." 

Hiyori feels the corner of his lips tug upwards. "Yeah? ...Which little things?" 

"Whenever I look for you, it seems like you're already there." Ikuya is bright pink, but the words come out smoothly enough. "Even when I don't feel like talking, you're pretty good at guessing what I'm thinking. You're never impatient when I need help with everyday stuff. And…uh…telling me I'm amazing. I mentioned that already." 

"Oh." Hiyori feels himself blushing, too, but tries to push back the feeling. "Yeah, some of that must have been a bit smothering, but…I meant pretty much all of it. I wasn't trying to coddle you." 

"I know," Ikuya says. Then, "Do you want me to complain more? Is that what you're getting at?" 

"When it gets to be too much," Hiyori agrees. "I just…I didn't want you to feel like you have to just put up with me." He looks over at Ikuya, serious, just a little anxious. "You'll tell me? If I get too smothering?" 

"Yeah." Ikuya shrugs. "But we've been doing this for years—like I said, you're already good at it. Right now, that's not the problem." He suddenly looks remorseful, and his eyes skitter away briefly before returning to Hiyori. "We're talking about me again. That's not what I came here for." 

Hiyori looks down, too, absurdly finding Ikuya's guilt contagious. "I…don't remember what we were talking about, before. Sorry." 

"That's okay." Ikuya rests his head on the top of Hiyori's shoulder, so his forehead is just brushing the side of his face. His hair just barely tickles Hiyori's chin. "...Do you want to spend the night in my room?" 

They're only down the hall from each other, and they haven't had a real sleepover in a while, and yet...that's probably what Ikuya's getting at, when he says he's okay with not talking. 

Friend stuff. He's not sure if it's okay for him to want to spend time with Ikuya the way he used to, but...right now he's on the edge of dozing off for some reason, with no energy for anything more intense than that, and it honestly sounds perfect. 

"Okay," he agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Random note: I've got Hiyori switching back and forth between Makoto's first and last names here because he's uncomfortable admitting to Haruka's face that they get along well. I don't know if that's something someone would actually do, but it seemed cute and appropriate under the circumstances. 
> 
> ...So, yeah. That didn't resolve everything, but it's really nice to get some actual closure for the first time in a while, yeah?
> 
> I've had an unexpectedly rough week—not terrible, but it looks like I'm going to have a more stressful next few months than I'd planned. This fic has been a bright spot in my life for months now, though, so I'm happier than ever to have you all along for the ride with me. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	20. Ripples

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ikuya tries to adjust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my lovely beta reader, who is the only reason this chapter is not a complete mess and is coming out reasonably on time. (It may still be a little bit of a mess, which is on me.) 
> 
> (Again, only warnings on this chapter are for swearing and discussion of things that've already.)

When they go back to Ikuya’s room, he’s hoping to keep talking about this. But whether it’s the change in venue, or just that Hiyori’s hit his limit on those conversations for the day, they don’t really talk about much that’s important. Hiyori curls up on Ikuya’s couch, and looks about ready to nod off right there. So Ikuya, a little baffled, lets him, and watches TV quietly for a little while, until it’s time for dinner. 

Hiyori revives a little for that, but he’s still quiet as they eat dinner together, replying to things Ikuya says instead of starting conversations himself. Ikuya isn’t great at starting conversations, either, and he isn’t actually sure what’s okay to talk about right now. All the things he wants to say are pressed up in the back of his throat, and he doesn’t trust himself with any of them. 

Hiyori’s always been so patient, and Ikuya made him cry today. Even if that hadn’t been his fault—it almost certainly had been—he seems very fragile right now. So it’s small talk or nothing, but Hiyori doesn’t seem to have much more interest in small talk than Ikuya does right now. 

They talk a little bit more after dinner, but before long they end up watching more TV instead, together this time. It starts to get late, and Hiyori starts getting quieter again, so Ikuya decides not to push. 

He’s wondering whether he should say something about going to bed when, beside him, Hiyori looks down at his phone and wrinkles his nose. "Ugh, fuck off."

Ikuya only just manages not to jump, turning his head to stare at Hiyori in surprise. He's glaring at his phone and grumbling, erasing the last shred of suspicion that he could possibly have been talking to Ikuya. 

He hums lightly in question, trying to look less than shocked, and Hiyori glances over and slouches down in his seat. "Sorry," he mumbles. 

"What’s up?" Ikuya asks, when Hiyori doesn't elaborate. 

"Just a message from someone I was hoping would leave me alone." Hiyori stashes his phone in a pocket. He's still speaking casually, but he seems to be getting more tense, not less, as he pushes himself up again. "It's fine, I'll...block him. I just wasn't expecting it." 

"Anyone I know?" Ikuya asks, still light, and Hiyori goes tighter, shoulders going rigid. That gives Ikuya a pretty good idea of the answer. 

"It's not that guy from before, is it?" he asks. "That foreigner." 

"Who, Sam?" Hiyori blinks, momentarily distracted. "No! No, Sam's great. It's, uh..." 

_Great, huh?_ Ikuya isn't sure how to feel about that, but at least he'd gotten a straight answer. He waits, then pushes when Hiyori's clearly fallen silent. "Who?" 

"...Kinjou." 

The word is quiet, but that doesn’t make it any less jarring. " _What?_ Since when has he had your number?"

Hiyori blinks. "...You know, I don't actually know how he got it, that's a good question. But...a while, I guess." He shrugs. 

"Why didn't you tell anyone? Or block him?" 

"I...uh." Hiyori shrugs again, shrinking in on himself. "I was a little worried what he'd do if I tried that. This way, I had a way of keeping an eye on him..." 

"So you just let him harass you?" Ikuya shakes his head, hands on his hips. "What's he been doing, then?" 

"Hopefully nothing?" Hiyori says. He won't look Ikuya in the eye. "You're right, I've needed to block him for a while. I'm going to, now." 

"I meant what did he do _before_." 

Hiyori's head is turned away, staring out of Ikuya's window. "It's...fine," he says indistinctly. 

"It's not fine." It's a struggle to keep his voice even, but Ikuya manages. "If it were fine, you wouldn't be reacting like this." 

Hiyori's lips go white. He crosses his arms. "He tried to get into my head," he says finally. "It sort of worked, but it sort of didn't." 

"About swimming?" Ikuya asks. 

Hiyori looks down. "About a lot of things," he mumbles. 

"Okay." Ikuya waits, wondering how to ask. He really wants to know, but just as obviously, Hiyori's struggling with the idea of telling him anything. "Well...you shouldn't have needed to stand up to him on your own. Sam and Kisumi know something about this too, right? And now I know, so..." 

"Makoto too," Hiyori says abruptly. "I was...wondering who else he might be going after, so I asked him about it." He pauses, worried. "He hasn't tried to get in touch with you before, has he?" 

"No," Ikuya says. "The only time I had to deal with him was getting him off _you._ "

"Good." Hiyori relaxes. "I was worried about that. But I, uh...we talked, recently, and I got him to promise to leave you alone. So he probably will." 

Something about that bothers him. "Hiyori. How did you get him to do that?" 

More shrinking. "We...had a race," he admits. "We bet on it." 

Ikuya’s heart sinks. "You met him for a race? Did you go by yourself?" 

It had been a guess, but the hollow feeling gets worse when Hiyori nods. 

Ikuya struggles to keep hold of his temper. He remembers how alarmed he'd felt when he’d caught Kinjou lifting Hiyori by the front of his shirt. Seeing Hiyori lifted onto his toes, helpless against someone bigger than him, had made him furious. He can taste that same anger again right now, and the same fear. "Did you even tell anyone where you were going?" he demands. "Or did you just...he's not _safe,_ Hiyori. He's threatened you before!" 

"There...wasn't anyone around to tell," Hiyori says. "I made the decision kind of fast, is the thing. He was trying to—to get me to quit, and I needed to fix it, and—” 

"He wanted you to quit the swim team?" Ikuya asks, horrified. "Is _that_ why you said those things? Because you were thinking about doing what he said?"

"No," Hiyori says. "No, I'd never let him force me, he couldn't actually do that. That would be dumb. It was just...I'm..."

He stops, and Ikuya watches, hoping that this time, if he waits long enough, Hiyori will continue. 

So he watches and waits. The window outside has gone dark, leaving the overhead lights as the only source of illumination in the room. Hiyori is curled in on himself, making himself small. The light overhead makes him look washed-out, catches starkly on the shadows under his eyes as he rubs at the bridge of his nose. 

"I've been so _tired,_ " Hiyori says finally, plaintively, like he's begging Ikuya to understand. "It's not just Kinjou. He was kind of getting to me, I guess, but he wouldn't have been a problem if he hadn't had a _point._ " 

"He didn’t,” Ikuya says, angry. “You push yourself too hard and you don’t rest enough, that’s not the same as not being talented. You know that. You tell me that all the time.” 

“You’re different,” Hiyori mumbles, refusing to look at him. “You’re amazing.” 

“Don’t try to argue with me and compliment me at the same time,” Ikuya snaps. “You know I’m right about this.” 

Two seconds later, he stops and actually listens to what he said, and feels an absurd urge to laugh. 

He’s about to squash it when he notices a tiny smile on Hiyori’s face, too. “Yeah, maybe,” Hiyori says softly. 

There’s a silence after that, as Ikuya wrestles between anger and frustration and humor and rapidly rising guilt. 

“I’m sorry,” he says finally, knowing it sounds stiff but feeling like it needs to be said. “I didn’t mean to get angry at you. I’m mad at _him_.” 

“I get that,” Hiyori says. “And you’re right—I’ve put up with him for too long.” He thumbs at his phone, and then holds it up to Ikuya. “See? Blocked.” 

“Good.” Ikuya glances at the clock, and then over at him. “Do you still…? It’s getting late. If you want to...”

“Hm?” Hiyori looks over, confused, and then he must see what Ikuya’s getting at because his expression softens. “Oh. No, I’ll stay. If that’s all right?” 

“Okay,” Ikuya says, trying to sound neutral but feeling gratitude rise up in his throat. He wouldn’t want Hiyori to feel guilted into staying, but he’s really glad he isn’t angry, isn’t cutting Ikuya off again. “Hang on.” 

He gets Hiyori set up for bed with a spare pillow and blanket, and turns the lights off with a quiet goodnight. He hears Hiyori shuffle around a bit, and then settle, breaths steadily evening out until he’s pretty sure Hiyori’s asleep. 

He stares up at his dark ceiling, trying to come to terms with the past several hours. 

From the other side, it feels like that conversation with Hiyori was inevitable, but...he hadn't seen it coming at all. Some of the things he’d learned had slotted into place almost immediately when Hiyori had said them, but others were taking a bit longer to process.

He'd suspected some of it, of course. He really had been wondering about who saved him in America for...a while, really, he isn't really sure how long. 

A few things keep coming back to him at the oddest times. The way that Hiyori felt pressed against him, for example. The heat of his shoulder through the rough fabric of his shirt, against Ikuya's cheek. 

The redness of his eyes, he doesn’t particularly like remembering, but that image is burned into his memory, too.

But the fact that Hiyori thinks of himself as the mermaid in the story…that one, Ikuya keeps coming back to, puzzling over. It's a bit of an awkward truth, irritating in how little it fits with how he’s always thought about things, and he finds himself poking at it like a sore tooth, or a puzzle box.

He feels muddled and confused and weirdly frustrated with all of it. He’s so used to the secrets and the silence and the bad habits that he doesn’t even notice them anymore, which is really frustrating.

 _Hiyori_ isn't, though. Hiyori is...really great, actually, and it's nice to have him close, with quiet breathing just audible from the other side of the room. 

He’d...never really noticed how calming it was, before. In the end, it’s that which carries him off to sleep. 

* * *

In the morning, when Ikuya wakes up to his alarm, Hiyori doesn’t. Ikuya peeks over the back of his couch to see that Hiyori’s still sleeping soundly, which is unusual enough that Ikuya decides not to wake him. Instead, he checks that Hiyori’s phone is plugged in and not on silent, and then gets dressed and leaves on his own. 

It’s a little hard to keep focused on practice when part of his mind is still on Hiyori sleeping in his room, but he manages. He’s happy with the small, shifting group of teammates who’ve decided to join him at least once a week in his morning practice. 

When it’s over, he calls Hiyori, and can’t help smiling to himself as he gives Hiyori a wake-up call. It’s a reversal of how they’ve handled things in the past, with Hiyori contacting him whenever he was worried about Ikuya oversleeping. 

He accompanies Hiyori to a late breakfast, and they hang out together until they have to split off for class. They meet again for lunch, and they go to practice together. 

Ikuya hadn’t realized how long it’d been since they’d done this, but it feels incredibly natural, too, like they never stopped. It feels easy where everything for the past several days has been difficult, and he’s grateful for the change of pace. 

It lasts all the way through the end of the school day and the beginning of swim practice. Even Hiyori apologizing for missing last time goes relatively smoothly. Kotarou seems annoyed, of course, but it kind of seems more like posturing than anything, with the way he grumbles about hurrying to make up for lost time. He reminds Ikuya of Asahi when he doesn’t want to back down on something, but lost interest in his argument a while ago. 

Unfortunately, when they start doing their relay practices in earnest, Ikuya watches his annoyance get more and more genuine from the moment Hiyori leaves the starting block. 

"Okay, that’s _really_ ," Kotarou says, when Hiyori's halfway down the lane. "Is it just me, or is Toono's technique all over the place? It’s like he can’t keep up his form lately." 

Ikuya stiffens, shoulders moving up towards his ears, and then, deliberately, takes a deep breath before stepping in. He brushes against Kotarou's upper arm. 

"Hey," he says quietly. 

Kotarou gives him a sharp look. "What?"

"Can you lay off Hiyori a little bit?" Ikuya asks, low and quiet, keeping an eye on Hiyori as he speaks. He's about to do a turn on the other end of the lane, there's no way he can hear them. "He's had a lot going on lately." 

"What are you—” Kotarou turns to glare at him, pulling away from his hand. "What's _your_ problem?" 

"Not a problem," Ikuya says. "I'm just saying, there's some stuff you don't know. I promise Hiyori is trying; he's just going through a rough patch right now." He pauses, but Hiyori's heading back, and he doesn't want to risk letting this conversation stretch too long. "He already feels bad about letting us down, okay? Don't make it worse for him." 

"What?" Kotarou asks, a little louder, sounding offended, but Ikuya turns away pointedly, stepping away for a moment so Kotarou can exchange with Hiyori. 

There's a hint of his usual surge for the last few meters, but it's not as strong as usual, and his approach is a little messy. Luckily, it's not enough to throw off his and Kotarou's exchange, and he launches without any further grumbling. 

Ikuya doesn't really notice much about how Kotarou does beyond that, because he's preoccupied. He's been thinking about Hiyori's technique in the back of his head, more out of habit than anything, and Kotarou's right; Hiyori's strokes are faintly lopsided in a way that hints at a bigger technique problem. 

"Sorry," Hiyori says as soon as he breaks the surface, cap and goggles still on, reaching up. Ikuya helps lever him out automatically, and when he's on solid ground again, Hiyori braces himself on the starting block, removing his goggles in a ragged gesture. 

"That...kinda sucked," he says. He catches Shin's eye, too, where he's a few steps away, adding, "Sorry. You set me up for a really good set, there." 

"No problem," Shin says smoothly. Ikuya wonders how much Shin's heard of his words to Kotarou. "Your cadence looked like it was a bit off. Any idea what caused it?" 

"Breathing, I think," Hiyori says. "I felt like I needed longer breaths...than usual, this time." He shakes his head. "I knew it was messing with my cadence...maybe I need to adjust a little." 

Ikuya watches Hiyori with concern. His voice is easy enough, but the pauses are awkward; he's not returning to his normal breathing rate with the ease he usually does. 

"Go sit," Ikuya tells him. "I'm going to finish timing Kotarou." 

Hiyori doesn't argue, just nods and wanders over to the small section of poolside bleachers they've claimed, resting his elbows on his knees, ribs still visibly moving in and out with each breath. 

Shin waits till Kotarou is on his last length before turning to Ikuya. "Is he okay?" he asks, gesturing subtly to Hiyori. "He seems...worn out, lately." 

"He's been struggling lately, I think," Ikuya says. "I think he's through the worst of it—we talked through some things, but..." He shrugs, and there's no real time to say anything further because he wants to time the end of Kotarou's lap accurately. 

When he does, Kotarou bobs in the poor for a moment or two, brows furrowed over his goggles. He looks up at them, looking unhappy, but accepts Shin's hand when he offers it, pulling himself out of the pool. 

"Well?" he asks. 

Ikuya shows him the stopwatch. "Good job." 

"Thanks." He pulls off his goggles, rubbing at his eyes. "And our total time?" 

Ikuya pauses a second too long. "About average," he says. 

"Below average, you mean?" Kotarou asks, and Ikuya nods reluctantly. "Thought so." 

"Sorry," Hiyori says, and they both turn, surprised. He's come up behind them almost silently. "There's...something wrong with my freestyle lately. I don't mean to hold you all back." 

Kotarou gives him a sharp look, and something in Ikuya tenses up, ready for an argument, but he just blows out a sharp sigh. "Any idea what the problem is?" 

"My cadence was off, I think. But..." Hiyori looks away. "I've been thinking...maybe freestyle just isn't working for me right now. I might want to switch back to backstroke for a while." 

"...Oh." Kotarou looks taken aback by this. "Are you saying you want out of this relay, then?" 

Hiyori smiles sadly. "I think it might be for the best." 

"Well...thanks for being honest," Kotarou mutters, but he still looks at a loss. "We'll have to talk to the captain about that, I guess...if you're sure." 

There's an awkward silence after that that Ikuya wants to break, but he's not sure what to say that won't cause more problems than it would fix. 

Unexpectedly, Shin is the one to break it. "You know, Kotarou," he says, looking thoughtful, "you were saying that you wanted to spend more time on your butterfly." 

Ikuya waits, not daring to hope. Hiyori looks as surprised as Ikuya feels. Kotarou gives him a slightly annoyed look. "Yeah? What are you implying?" 

"Well, Kirishima, you used to do breaststroke, right? But you're strong in all the strokes." Shin shrugs, gesturing between himself and Ikuya. "We could _janken_ to figure out who does freestyle, but we should probably experiment with both ways. If we can find an arrangement that works, I'm fine with switching to a medley relay." 

Hiyori stares between them, dumbfounded. "You don't have to—”

"Sure we don't," Shin says, "but you were the one who was saying that now is the time to experiment. We can make a new freestyle team, but we might as well see what the four of us can do first, right?" He puts his hands into the pockets of his jersey, which he'd shrugged into after his last round. "I _like_ having you on our team, Toono. Don’t be too quick to kick yourself off it." 

He'd said it tentatively, but Hiyori's face is an open book, confirming that Shin's words are correct. After hearing it said out loud, Ikuya kind of wants to kick himself, too. Of _course_ that's what Hiyori's been doing—even before he'd actually said anything about quitting, he'd been beating himself up about not keeping up with his own standards. 

"We can try it," Kotarou says, looking uncomfortable. "...No hard feelings either way, Toono. I've heard you're strong in backstroke, yeah? Let's try it for a week or two and see if it's true." 

"I'll do my best," Hiyori says gamely. 

It's still the middle of practice, but warming up to train in different strokes seems like it would make things less strained than continuing to work on their freestyle times. "Let me look up some benchmarks," Ikuya says, and goes to get his phone. 

A few minutes later, Hiyori jumps back into the pool, getting into position to do a practice run of backstroke. Ikuya and Shin have decided that Ikuya will try breaststroke first, leaving Shin as the anchor. Shin looks a little uncertain about this, but agrees anyway. 

"You'll do fine," Ikuya finds himself saying. "You're less rusty than the rest of us, for one thing." 

Shin nods, looking heartened, as he resets the stopwatch and looks down at Hiyori. "Okay, Toono. Ready?" 

Hiyori nods, face stoic behind his goggles, and starts on Shin's signal. 

Breaststroke comes after backstroke in the medley relay, so Ikuya climbs up onto the starting block, taking his time and watching Hiyori move down the lane. His turn is reasonably neat, and while Ikuya hasn't timed backstroke much recently, he gets the sense that Hiyori's making good time. Something seems a little off in his form, still, but it doesn’t seem to be affecting his speed too badly. He'll check the lap times later, he promises himself, and gets ready to dive the second Hiyori touches the side. 

Swimming breaststroke again is a little strange right at first, but his practice for the individual medley means he never really got out of the habit of it. It's nice to get to move right into it for once, and he does his best to push himself, taking advantage of the muscles unique to this stroke, which are still relatively fresh. 

The practice closes out amicably enough, but it takes Ikuya a little while to work up the courage to talk about what happened. 

“You know…” he says, and waits till Hiyori looks over at him. He looks willing enough to talk. “I don’t think Kotarou’s actually mad at you.” 

“Oh.” Hiyori looks embarrassed as he considers this. “Well, I hope he isn’t now, at least. He kind of had reason to be.” 

“I’m not sure he ever was,” Ikuya says. “I think he’s just a little like Asahi—he blusters a lot. But I think he likes having you as a teammate.” 

“Hmm,” Hiyori says. “Well, I’m not an expert on Shiina, so I’ll have to take your word for that part. But...thanks.” 

He doesn’t sound convinced, but he does look a little encouraged. Ikuya decides to take it as a win. 

* * *

Over the next few days, Ikuya keeps catching himself worrying. 

He’s not sure how much he’s imagining, but...Hiyori hasn't talked to him as much since the hours they'd spent at his apartment that evening, and he's seemed a little worn around the edges.

It isn't obvious. His smiles are...different, than they've been for a while. They're softer and more honest. He spends a lot of time silently at Ikuya's side, his answers are shorter and quieter. Sometimes he seems lost in thought when Ikuya looks at him. 

On Thursday morning, Hiyori almost nods off in their math class. Ikuya has to lean over and nudge him. Hiyori's head bobs up and he shoots an apologetic glance Ikuya's way before taking dutiful notes for the rest of the class. His pencil drags a few times, though, and he looks a little off—limp, almost wilted. 

"How much sleep did you get last night?" Ikuya demands quietly, as soon as the class is over.

Hiyori looks confused. "A normal amount," he says. 

"Normal or healthy?" 

"...Reasonably healthy." Hiyori shrugs. "Maybe I need some more coffee." 

Ikuya gives him an exasperated look. "Or you could go take a nap, instead of setting yourself up to stay up late." 

"It’s still morning," Hiyori says, looking playfully scandalized at having his caffeine intake critiqued. 

"At least you'll have gotten more sleep that way." 

Hiyori looks blearily over at him. He still looks simply confused. Not annoyed, or embarrassed, or nervous. Just...confused, maybe that Ikuya is being so insistent about this. "Okay," he says, giving in. "I'll go...rest for a bit. I don’t have another class till this afternoon, anyway." 

"Good." Ikuya pauses, feeling ridiculous, and then pushes on. "If you want...I can bring you lunch. You know, so you don’t miss it." 

To his surprise, Hiyori ducks his head, looking away. When Ikuya tries to get a glimpse of his face, he sees that Hiyori's ears are a bit pink. 

"That's...very nice of you," Hiyori says. "You don't have to go to the trouble, though." 

"It's no trouble," Ikuya says immediately, though he's still distracted by surprise. Is Hiyori _blushing?_ He doesn't recall seeing much of Hiyori doing that. Occasionally Hiyori will get it into his head to fluster Ikuya, and will laugh himself pink about the result, but this time Hiyori isn't laughing. 

"Don’t you have class at one today?” Hiyori asks, rubbing at his neck awkwardly as he shakes his head. “I’ll be fine. You go ahead.” 

“Fine,” Ikuya grumbles. “I’ll see you at dinner then, I guess.” He shoots Hiyori a glare. “Actually sleep,” he adds sternly. 

"I will!" Hiyori promises, chuckling. 

"You’d better. I'll know if you don't," Ikuya says dryly. 

Hiyori's answering laugh is quiet enough to make it clear that they both know Ikuya is at least half serious. "Okay, okay, I'm going." 

He turns, and there's the odd smile again. It's new, or maybe old, and somehow, seeing it makes something in Ikuya stop short. "I'll see you later." 

"Later," Ikuya manages, and Hiyori turns and trudges back towards the dorms. 

Ikuya watches him go for a few steps. He's walking slowly, like there's extra weight in every step...or maybe he's just sleepy, and Ikuya's overthinking things. 

He goes to the student café to study for a bit, ordering the special, which is hot and just sweet enough, warming him down to the tips of his toes. He lands a seat near the window, and spends as much time staring up at the overcast winter sky as he does reading his textbook. 

It's...oddly quiet, without Hiyori there after the last few days. It's quiet with him, too, sometimes, but being by himself is different. It's not bad, but he can't quite keep his thoughts off him, either. 

These last few days have been...nice. A little odd, and he hopes Hiyori will be a little less exhausted soon, but overall it’s been nice. 

He kind of wants things to stay like this, at least for the next little while. 

* * *

His hopes are dashed a bit when he gets a message a few hours before dinner that Hiyori ate early, and not to wait for him. It’s all for the best, he supposes, but it’s amazing how quickly he’d gotten used to their old routine. 

In high school, after moving back to Japan, they’d gone just about everywhere together. They’d shared a homeroom and most of their electives, and had lived practically in each others’ pockets. Hiyori had woken Ikuya up in place of an alarm clock most mornings. 

Back when they’d started university, part of Ikuya had been eager to grow out of that—to become less dependent on Hiyori and more able to stand on his own. He’s made some progress with it, and besides—now that he’s had a glimpse at Hiyori’s side of things, he wants more than ever never to have to rely on him that heavily again. 

But...he kind of likes the part where they hang out. He hadn’t realized he missed it, but he kind of does. 

Steeling himself, he tries to call Hiyori for a second morning in a row. If he’d gone to sleep early, Ikuya reasons, he might be willing to join practice this morning. 

He doesn’t get a response after two rings, so he hangs up, feeling a little foolish. Figuring that Hiyori will call him back when he sees the missed call, he heads off to his morning practice alone, though Kotarou finds him on the way.

He’s got a morning class that he has to rush for a bit because Kotarou keeps him late talking about medley relays, and it’s not until that and his next class are over that he thinks to check his phone again. 

So much for spending time together, he thinks absently, but it’s fine. Hiyori doesn’t need to be attached to him at the hip. Maybe he needs some space, and has been too shy to ask for it.

That would explain a lot of things, actually—though he kind of hopes it isn’t that. If that’s what’s going on, he hopes Hiyori would be willing to tell him to his face. 

For now, he does his best to shrug off his misgivings, and figures he'll talk to him at practice. He can keep himself occupied for a few hours. 

Or he thinks he can, but once his brain presents him with the idea that Hiyori is not-so-subtly asking for space, it’s hard to let it go. If it were just that, he _thinks_ Hiyori would say something, but...what if it’s less about not liking Ikuya and more about something specific Ikuya’s been doing lately? What if he’s been annoying?

Maybe...maybe he's been a lot for Hiyori to deal with these past days. Well, no, he knows he has. 

It was just...of course he's upset. Hiyori's been letting Kinjou bother him for weeks without mentioning anything—to him, anyway. 

Other people had known about the Kinjou thing, right? Kisumi and that Sam kid had known something. And then Hiyori had mentioned Makoto…

Before he fully realizes what he’s doing, he has his phone out and is sitting on his couch, waiting for Makoto to pick up. 

"Hey, Makoto?" he asks, as soon as the ringing stops. 

"Hello?" There's a brief pause. "Ikuya?" 

"Yeah, it's me." Ikuya pauses. “Do you have a moment?” 

“Yeah, I’m not busy.” 

“Great.” It’s a little hard to know where to begin. "...Hiyori talks to you about stuff sometimes, right?" 

"...Sometimes," Makoto agrees, sounding suddenly hesitant. "Why do you ask?" 

“He’s being weird,” Ikuya says. “I’m wondering if he’s avoiding me.” 

Makoto sounds nonplussed. “Why would he do that?” 

“Well…” Ikuya isn’t sure, so he gives Makoto a rundown of the last couple of days. He tries to keep it fairly vague, tries to respect Hiyori’s privacy, but it’s tricky when he’s not sure what they’ve already talked about. 

He pauses when he comes to their argument Tuesday night. "Did he tell you about the Kinjou thing?" 

There's a pause. "A little," Makoto says slowly. "Why do you ask?" 

Ikuya takes his phone from his ear long enough to sigh. Why had Hiyori talked to Makoto about this, and not told Ikuya anything until after it was over?

"We were talking about it the other day," Ikuya says. "I just...they'd been messaging each other. I don't even know how long it's been happening, but...it seems like a while. Did he tell you anything about that?" 

"No," Makoto says. "No, he didn't. Not directly, anyway." He sounds very serious. "Ikuya...you know not to, uh, get involved in all that, right? When Hiyori talked to me, it was pretty clear that was the last thing he’d want." 

"Of course not," Ikuya says. "Hiyori...uh, dealt with it, I guess. Blocked his number and everything. If he comes after him again, that'll be different, but...Hiyori thinks he won't, and I believe him." 

"Okay," Makoto says patiently. "That's good." 

"I just..." Ikuya sighs for Makoto's benefit, this time. "I don't get it. It's like he's always hiding things." 

"...I don't really understand it either," Makoto admits, and Ikuya wants to shake him a little bit. 

"Okay, but you're way better with people than I am, and Hiyori seems to confide in you more easily than me." He tries to say it matter-of-factly, instead of sounding angry, or hurt, because...well, he doesn't know the reason why, yet. Unless it's just because he's _Makoto,_ which...is pretty likely. And obvious. "You don't have to spill his secrets to me or anything, just...do you have any, I don’t know, tips? I'm starting to think there's a lot we need to talk over, and I'd like to stop sucking at it." 

"You don't suck," Makoto says immediately. Ikuya's choice of words sounds a little ridiculous in his placating tone. "Uhh...I'm not really sure? I mean, I sympathize with him a little, I guess. I spent a lot of time worrying about everything, especially Haru-chan, and he's also kind of a worrier."

"You do both worry too much." They both hover, that's true. Ikuya hadn't considered that as a thing for them to bond over, though. That's...a little weird, but interesting.

"Haha, yeah. I don't know, I'm a little surprised he wants to talk to me too," Makoto continues modestly. "I think he's...also really shy, in some ways. Not the same way I am, but like...he has trouble saying what he's really thinking." 

"Hm." Ikuya can't really argue with that, either. "What can I do to get him to open up more?" 

"I'm...not really sure," Makoto hedges. "It might help to like...let him say things slowly, I guess? If he's nervous, he might try to avoid saying what he's really thinking. You should just give him time to...you know that thing that Haru-chan does sometimes? Where he just stares at people until they explain themselves?" 

Is _that_ what Haru's trying to do when he does that? If so, it isn’t an infallible method. A lot of people just end up looking confused. "Yeah...?" 

"Something like that, maybe," Makoto says. "Just...give him time. You might need to ask the same thing a lot of times. Oh, and, uh...I know it might be frustrating, but I don't think it'll help if he thinks you're mad at him." 

It's a very roundabout way of telling him off—or as close as Makoto gets, anyway. Ikuya takes a quick, silent breath, calming himself down. Makoto is criticizing him, yes—because he'd _asked_ for criticism. He needs some, because he's not good at having conversations with Hiyori yet, and Makoto is better at it. It doesn't matter if he doesn't want to hear it. In fact, that's a sign that it's good advice. 

"Okay. Yeah, that's a good point." And Ikuya changes the subject, mostly out of self-consciousness. Makoto isn’t some sort of Hiyori substitute, and it feels self-conscious to let his preoccupation dominate the whole conversation. Fortunately, Makoto is happy to talk to him about other subjects, and they end up chatting for a while, until Ikuya realizes that he needs to start getting ready for practice. 

He thanks Makoto again, promises to hang out soon, and leaves, hurrying so that he’ll have time to change at the locker rooms. 

Hiyori doesn’t turn up.

Ikuya waits till a few minutes before practice begins, stretching nervously near the locker room entrance, and then ducks in to retrieve his phone. 

He tries texting Hiyori, only to get no response. He puts his phone back in his locker and goes back out to the lanes, trying to forget about it, but it’s impossible to forget about. 

Kotarou’s frustrated, and Shin’s concerned, and Ikuya’s trying hard to pretend that he isn’t both of those things, only worse. 

He doesn’t understand why Hiyori’s doing this. He can’t help but wonder if Hiyori’s decided to quit after all—because if it isn’t that, then why would he break his promise? 

It takes most of his self-control to get through practice without snapping at anyone and without marching out to demand Hiyori explain himself immediately, but he manages. He apologizes to Shin and Kotarou, as sincerely as he can, because this is probably at least somehow his fault and they don’t deserve to be caught in the middle of it. And then he apologizes to Hoshikawa, too, when the captain intercepts him on the way to the locker room. 

“It’s fine,” Hoshikawa says. “There’s no need to apologize. Tell Toono I’d like to talk to him again soon, though.” 

That’s right—Hiyori talked to him before. The knowledge that the captain already knows Hiyori was considering quitting doesn’t make Ikuya feel any better. 

“I will,” he says. He takes the fastest shower humanly possible and tries not to stomp too obviously as he returns to the dorms. 

He’s done with this. He’s going to be patient, sure. He’s also not going to let Hiyori get out of explaining himself. He’s getting answers, no matter what it takes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's Ikuya's take on things. He has a lot to process, poor guy. (I wish I could say it's about to get easier. Let's just say, we're going to be sticking with his POV for the next little while...) 
> 
> Also, just in general...every week continues to be so much. I've been very, very lucky to be in a position of relative security, so I've been able to safely reach out and offer support to others in a few small ways, but I think a lot of us are stuck wishing we could be doing more. There's a long road ahead for all of us, and lately it only seems to be getting longer. 
> 
> Please try to stay safe, love yourself and love others. Let's do what we can to get through this, and have the best world we can manage at the other end of it.


	21. Swell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get worse. 
> 
> (Please note the chapter warnings.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Significant warnings** this chapter, because this is where the "sickfic" tag comes in and _I do not go easy_. For specific warnings, as always, see the notes at the end of the chapter. 
> 
> Thanks to my delightful beta for all their help betaing!

Hiyori's lights are off, and though he puts his ear to the door for a moment, Ikuya can't hear anything from his room. He considers calling Kisumi or maybe Makoto to find out if he's run off somewhere again, but at least knocking first seems worth the effort, since he's already here. 

Ikuya's hopes are low when he knocks, and lower still when he doesn't hear any response from the other side of the door. He knocks again, more loudly—more out of frustration than anything, but it's not like it's late enough that he has to worry about disturbing the rest of the hall. 

It occurs to him that he should maybe try calling Hiyori next, before he drags anyone else into this. He’s pulling out his phone when he hears a muffled voice coming from Hiyori's room. "Coming." 

Ikuya blinks and steps back a bit, and waits. And then waits a bit longer, until he's wondering what’s taking so long. "It's me," he says through the door. "Could you just let me in?" 

"Sorry, almost there," Hiyori answers immediately, and Ikuya crosses his arms. He sounds apologetic, but Ikuya doesn’t appreciate being made to feel like a jerk when he's pretty sure he's justified in being annoyed right now....

The door opens to a dark entryway, and Hiyori leans out of the door. "Ikuya?" 

He sounds...confused, voice low and ragged with sleep. His hair is mussed, he's in rumpled pajamas that have the first two buttons undone. As Ikuya watches, he wavers sideways, leaning against the doorway for support. 

"Where were you?" Ikuya asks, more out of reflex than anything. It's what he'd been meaning to ask, and his brain hasn't caught up with this turn of events, or what it means. 

"I..." Hiyori looks confused, and then dismayed. "Wait, is practice already over?" 

"Yes," Ikuya says. "Did you sleep through it or something?" 

"I guess I must have," Hiyori mutters. "Did you see my message, at least?" 

Now it's Ikuya's turn to be confused. "What message? You haven't sent me anything today."

“But I did," Hiyori says blankly. "I think I’m coming down with something. I realized I probably shouldn't go to practice, so I texted you."

Ikuya almost takes out his phone there and then to check, but even with the wall for support, Hiyori looks suspiciously unsteady on his feet, like he’s on the verge of falling over. "Never mind that, let's get you back to bed," he says sharply. "I didn't realize you were sick."

"I didn’t either," Hiyori says. He steps back to let Ikuya inside. "Not until this morning. I emailed all my professors who I have class with today...I was going to go to the doctor."

Ikuya does some quick mental reshuffling as he comes inside, closing the door behind him. "How long have you been feeling bad?" he asks. 

Hiyori shrugs. "I woke up with a fever this morning, so then, I guess."

It's not as straightforward an answer as Ikuya would like, and now that he thinks about it...how long has it been since he could say for sure that Hiyori seemed _healthy_? In hindsight, something like this makes more sense than it doesn't. He'd sent Hiyori home to rest yesterday; why hadn't he realized he might be sick?

Then again, he can’t actually remember the last time Hiyori got sick enough to miss class.

Ikuya steps closer, looking Hiyori over. "Hold still." He presses a hand to Hiyori's forehead and hisses. "That...definitely feels like a fever," he says. He doesn't even need to check his own forehead to be sure. "You should rest," he says, and tugs at Hiyori's shoulder, stepping out of the way. 

Hiyori nods in agreement, and pushes himself off the wall, swaying in place. 

Ikuya steps close without thinking, taking his arm to steady him. "Come on." 

"Sorry," Hiyori says. 

Ikuya doesn’t bother answering, instead leading him back into his room and helping him sit on the bed. Hiyori pulls up one leg and sits partially cross-legged on the edge of the bed. He looks a little more flushed than before, maybe a little flustered. "I didn't mean to be a bother." 

"You're not. This is fine." Ikuya sits on the edge of the bed, next to him. “Didn't you think it was weird when I didn't message you back?"

"I told you not to worry," Hiyori says, shaking his head. "I'm a little surprised you came by, actually." His smile is wan, dishonest. "I'm going to be fine soon enough, after all."

Ikuya kind of wants to ask why Hiyori thinks he’d just...what? Ignore the fact that he’s sick? He doesn’t like that at all, and kind of resents that Hiyori thinks he’d ever respond that way. But there's another, more pressing question he wants answered first. He picks up the phone from the bedspread and holds it out to Hiyori. "…Do something for me. Unlock your phone?"

Hiyori apparently thinks that arguing is too much effort, though watching his eyes squint almost entirely shut as he picks up the screen in an elaborate wince is a bit agonizing. Unhappily, Ikuya adds “headache” to his mental list of Hiyori’s symptoms.

Hiyori hands his phone to Ikuya. "Here."

"Give me a second." He's not familiar with the layout of Hiyori's phone, but it's easy enough to find his messages. He checks twice, just to be certain, and then hands the phone back. "You didn't message me."

"What?" Hiyori takes the phone, squinting again. There's a long moment of silence as he processes what's on it, and then he sets the phone quietly down on the bed beside him and stares off into space.

He swears absently. "I must've dreamed it."

He sways, like the realization has unmoored him, and Ikuya hurries to put an arm around him, propping him up before he crashes into the wall or falls over.

"You dreamed that you sent me a message?" he asks.

"I have very realistic dreams," Hiyori says weakly. "Sometimes, at least. Doesn't that ever happen to you? Dreaming you've turned off your alarm and gotten up, or something?"

Ikuya shakes his head. "I don't think I've ever used a smartphone in a dream."

"Must be nice." Hiyori shakes his head slightly, leaning into Ikuya a little further. "Usually I can still tell the difference between dream and reality, though. I feel like I'm still not totally awake."

Ikuya feels a chill go through him. "You said you haven't been to the doctor yet?"

"Yeah, I haven’t," Hiyori says, sounding forlorn, "and they're probably closed by now. I hope my professors will take my word for it, or accept my doctor's note a day late."

"If you're this sick now, you're not going to be better by morning," Ikuya says. "But...I'm not totally sure we should wait. I don't have a thermometer, but…"

"I do," Hiyori says.

Ikuya gives Hiyori a pointed look. "When's the last time you used it?"

"Earlier," Hiyori says, then coughs, uncomfortable. "I mean…I guess, this morning."

"I’ll get it. Where do you keep it?"

A few minutes later, and he's got a freshly washed and dried thermometer under Hiyori's tongue. Hiyori sits against the wall, quiet, breathing evenly. He looks half-asleep again, and Ikuya really wants to ask him some more questions. But he wants a good reading on the thermometer, too, so he takes a few moments to organize his thoughts.

But those thoughts all go out the window anyway, when the thermometer beeps and Hiyori hands it wordlessly over to him.

" _Hiyori_ ," he says.

"What's it say?" Hiyori asks, but the question is listless.

"Almost forty." Ikuya thinks hard. It's not quite high enough to justify an immediate trip to the hospital, but it's enough that he's unhappy Hiyori didn't make it out to a doctor today.

"Oh." He makes a face. "It was thirty-nine earlier, but I guess the medicine wore off."

"You are actually sure you took it, right?"

Hiyori groans and rubs his face in his hands. "Well, now that you've _said_ that…" he begins. It sounds like he's aiming for light-hearted, but he sounds kind of irritated, too.

"I can get you some more," Ikuya offers. "Where do you keep it?" 

Hiyori starts to push himself up, towards the edge of the bed. "Oh, I can—” 

"No, don’t move," Ikuya says, more harshly than he means to. Hiyori freezes, staring at him. "You should rest," he adds awkwardly. "Just...tell me where to look." 

"Okay." 

It only takes a minute to shake a few pills into his hand and fill a glass of water. Hiyori takes the pills and drinks with a grimace. He drinks half of the water and then sets it down. He settles across the bed this time, still leaning against the wall. "Thanks," he says quietly. "I really am sorry about this." 

Ikuya climbs back onto the bed next to him. From this angle, it's hard to look straight at him, but that makes the question he wants to ask a little easier to get out, somehow. "Hiyori...why did you think I wouldn't come?" 

"I told you what was going on," Hiyori says, with an awkward little shrug and a faint wince. He's not looking at Ikuya, either, keeping his head and shoulders against the wall and staring straight ahead. "I'm...used to just dealing with it myself, I guess. I don't get sick very often, and it isn't a big deal when I do, you know? Usually I can just work through it."

"What about when you can't?" Ikuya asks, concerned.

"I'd stay home. I would text my parents if I had a question or something, back when I lived with them, but usually I didn't even need to do that." 

"Well...maybe you need to be more careful, now that you're technically living by yourself," Ikuya says, sure he wants to scold Hiyori but not sure for what. "You need someone checking in on you."

"There's really no need," Hiyori says matter-of-factly. "I'm responsible...or I should be at this point, anyway. We're almost adults, after all." He sighs sadly. "I just keep messing up lately. I'm sorry." 

Ikuya isn’t...really sure what to do with that. “You _have_ always been the responsible one," he begins diplomatically.

"Till now, I guess," Hiyori says.

Ikuya pauses. It isn't that he wants Hiyori to be the adult for both of them forever, but...it makes him wonder. "What changed?"

He peeks at Ikuya out of the corner of his eye. "I've been less on-edge," he says. "I'm…not alone, and I know you're okay. So even if I mess up, it seems more like things won’t go terribly wrong."

"That only works if someone knows you're in trouble," Ikuya says, nudging him.

"I did think I told you."

"And it didn't occur to you that something was wrong when I didn't show up right away?"

Hiyori shakes his head slightly. "I'd have been bothered if you had," he says plainly. "I knew you'd come when you had the time." He looks a little wistfully at the ceiling. "It was nice, knowing that you trusted me enough to take my word for it. I was okay."

“You weren’t,” Ikuya tells him. “You _aren’t_. When was the last time you ate something?” 

Hiyori makes a shrugging gesture with one hand. “I’m not really very hungry.” 

“Okay,” Ikuya says. 

Hiyori shifts restlessly, pulling away to frown at Ikuya. “Were you able to tell Hoshikawa that I wasn’t coming?” 

Ikuya thinks for a moment before he speaks, takes a moment to get himself together. “No,” he says. “But I told him I’d get back to him when I’d talked to you.” 

“Oh.” Hiyori settles back with a sigh. “Okay.” 

Ikuya bites his lip on the side Hiyori can’t see. 

As nice as it is to see Hiyori looking so calm, to see his faith in him, this level of disorientation is not normal. Not for most people, and especially not for Hiyori—Hiyori, who says he takes things on faith but always double- and triple-checks himself, so subtly that Ikuya suspects he doesn't even notice all the times he does it.

Right now, he's not even sure Hiyori remembers that they haven’t exchanged messages today.

"Hiyori, do me a favor," he says finally, voice carefully steady.

"Sure," he says, compliant. "What is it?"

"Lower your chin to your chest."

It seems to take a moment for the instruction to register, before Hiyori says, "Okay." Gingerly, he sits up and starts to lower his chin—

—only to stop part of the way through the motion, hissing in pain.

A sensation like ice water fills Ikuya's stomach, faster than drowning. He doesn’t know a lot about sickness and first aid, but his parents had talked him through some things before he’d returned to Japan to live on his own, given him tips on what to watch out for. If he’s right about what this is, then...

"Okay," he says, forcing his voice steady. "Okay, the school gave us a nurse's hotline when we first got here, remember? I'm going to call that and check, but I'm pretty sure we need to get you to a doctor tonight."

"I'm just stiff," Hiyori says, tilting his head minutely like he's trying to loosen his neck muscles, but never getting too far. "It's probably to do with the headache. Or sleeping all day in a funny—”

"It’s a symptom of meningitis, Hiyori."

"…Oh."

"Yeah."

"Oops."

" _Yeah._ "

"Okay, maybe I should've tried harder to get to a doctor," Hiyori mumbles.

"No kidding," Ikuya says. On the whole, though, he has to admit that Hiyori is being a better sport about this than Ikuya would be. For all that he's usually been the caretaker between the two of them, he doesn't make a terrible patient. Just…a distressingly passive one.

"I'm sorry," Hiyori says again, voice tiny. Ikuya squeezes his shoulder, only loosening up slightly when Hiyori winces.

"This isn't trouble," he says. "Don't even _think_ that. If you were in my place, I'd already be safe in the hospital right now. I probably would've been yesterday."

"I don't know that much about meningitis," Hiyori argues, then adds, "I'd offer to help find the hotline number, but..."

"Yeah," Ikuya agrees. "I've got it, all right? You just stay there. Try to rest."

Hiyori starts to nod, stops, finds Ikuya's hand on his shoulder and squeezes it instead. "I'm okay," he promises quietly.

Ikuya pulls his phone from his pocket and starts searching. He stumbles a bit when the conversation starts, but manages to get his question across soon enough. Halfway through the conversation, he starts looking around wildly for a piece of paper and a pen.

Hiyori, to his concern, gets up and stumbles across to his bag, but he's holding out a notebook and a pen before Ikuya can tell him off. It looks like class notes. Ikuya opens it to the second page and scribbles some information down on a corner, and Hiyori goes back to his bed, leaning back against the wall again.

"They say we need to get you to a night clinic," Ikuya says when he hangs up the phone.

"Great," Hiyori says. He's staring at nothing again, chin up as he swallows carefully.

Ikuya is distracted for a moment by something about the line of Hiyori’s throat, bare and outlined in the dim light of the room. He realizes abruptly that the only light in the room is coming from Hiyori’s desk lamp, and then forces himself to refocus. "They gave me a number and an address," Ikuya says. "Think you can make it in a cab? I'll call one."

"It sounds like less hassle," Hiyori agrees, and stands, striding across the room. "And I probably shouldn't ride the bus. Let me get my wallet."

Ikuya's about to argue, but… "Does it have your health insurance card?"

"Yeah—"

Silently, Hiyori lists to one side, arm already up to catch himself on the wall. It's such a casual movement that it almost doesn't register to Ikuya that he's falling, and Ikuya has to rush belatedly over to him to help break his fall. He ends up on his knees without so much as a thump, and Ikuya hopes he's avoided bruises.

"Hiyori!" He keeps his voice down, barely, but he can't help panicking. "Hiyori, what's—"

"Trash can," Hiyori says, carefully enunciated but rushed.

The words are out of context enough that it still takes Ikuya a moment to realize what Hiyori must mean, but one of his hands is hovering in front of his face, and Ikuya quickly puts it together. He takes two lunging steps across the room and grabs the trash can, pulling it over and setting it down in front of Hiyori.

"Tha—"

Hiyori's voice hitches into a gag, and Ikuya braces his shoulders as he curls in on himself. He keeps his swearing in his head, because he doubts it'll help, but it's terrible to just sit and watch. Not because of the noise—Hiyori is oddly efficient about throwing up; he doesn’t groan or complain at all, and even the retching itself is mostly silent—but there's a low whimper on every inhale, and when Ikuya runs his fingers through Hiyori's hair it's soaked through with cold sweat around the edges and halfway up the back of his head. There are tears on his face, dripping down his nose and into the trash can along with what little he's managed to bring up.

With his head and neck already hurting, Ikuya thinks with dread clenching his stomach, vomiting must be agony. And despite it all, he's so _quiet_.

"Shh," he finds himself saying, automatically, nonsensically, running one hand up and down Hiyori's back. "Shh, you're okay. It's okay. Get it up."

"Not much to," Hiyori gasps, but after a few more heaving breaths, the fit seems to subside.

"Hold on," Ikuya says, and leaves him again, briefly, to grab the tissue box Hiyori has on his desk, the same one that had gotten them through that tumultuous conversation not so long ago. It might be Ikuya's imagination, but it seems quite a bit emptier than it had a few days ago.

Hiyori mops up his face with one hand, the other still clenching the trash can in a white-knuckled grip. "That sucked," he says, voice rough.

"I know," Ikuya says, as soothing as he can manage. "I'm going to call the cab, and you're going back to bed. I'll get your stuff for you, just tell me where it is."

By the time the cab is supposed to arrive, Ikuya has a change of clothes, Hiyori's phone charger and ID, and a few other essentials bundled into a bag over one shoulder. They have a few trash bags with them, too, safely in Hiyori’s pocket in case of an emergency. Ikuya takes Hiyori’s umbrella on the way out, too, because it’s started to rain.

Hiyori has a mask on his face, and another in the bag, just in case. He leans on Ikuya as they head out the door, arm slung over his shoulders for balance.

“I hope I don’t get you sick,” he murmurs, as they make it to the taxi stand and wait, Ikuya holding an umbrella for them in the evening drizzle. He shivers, and his voice is still low and rough, but even under the mask and glasses Ikuya can make out a hint of his caring smile.

“I’m not really who you should be worried about right now,” Ikuya reminds him, but there’s no bite to it.

Hiyori huffs out a silent laugh. “Sorry, sorry.”

When the taxi finally arrives, Ikuya thinks the driver gives them a bit of a wary look, but he doesn’t say anything other than asking their destination. Hiyori makes his leaning less obvious, but lets Ikuya take the lead in confirming where they're going.

“I’ll cover the fare,” he says as they get underway, back carefully straight in the seat, eyes fixed on the front window. Ikuya hopes he isn’t feeling nauseous again.

“Don’t worry about it,” Ikuya starts, but Hiyori smiles tightly, still facing forward.

“It’s my fault we’re here in the first place,” he says. “Let me?” He sounds almost the way he has the few times he’s asked before buying Ikuya coffee or something—kind, a little bit indulgent. But now, he also sounds tired, like the offer is a reflex he can’t shake.

Ikuya’s tempted to agree, for a moment, just to see if it keeps the smile on his face. Instead, he says, “I’m the one who’s going to be able to get to an ATM."

Hiyori grumbles a bit and leans forward gingerly, resting his hands on his knees. “That’s a good point. I'm going to convince you to let me pay you back later, you know.”

“Once you’re better, feel free.” Ikuya spares a glance at the driver, who appears not to be listening, and then lowers his head so his mouth is beside Hiyori’s ear, speaking in a whisper. “Are you feeling sick again?”

“A bit,” Hiyori mumbles. “I think I can keep it together, though.”

“...You can lean on me,” Ikuya says, forcing the words to come out normally, not letting it be awkward. “If it’ll help.”

Silently, a bit stiffly, Hiyori does.

Their conversation ends at that, only it doesn’t; it’s wordless, but communication happens all the same. Hiyori is stiff, at first, and then slowly relaxes more and more against Ikuya’s side. Ikuya, for his part, runs his hand up and down Hiyori’s back, slow, careful taps with individual fingers, and shifts into a position where Hiyori can’t slip off him.

Hiyori swallows rhythmically for several minutes, his jaw tight, one hand on the bag in his pocket; but all of him slowly relaxes, and his hand slips free, and after several long minutes he shifts, sleepily, and presses his forehead and nose against Ikuya’s neck. Ikuya suppresses a shiver at his overheated skin and the faint crackling of the mask below his ear as he pulls Hiyori against him.

It’s amazing how much traffic Tokyo can have, even at night; Ikuya had hoped they would get to the clinic in under an hour, but it becomes much longer. He’s glad that Hiyori seems to be completely out, that he’s the only one chafing at the delay.

He’s thinking about nothing—trying not to worry, to block out his impatience—when his phone buzzes silently in his pocket. He pulls it out for want of anything better to do, and sees it’s a message from Hoshikawa, asking after Hiyori. When he hadn’t shown up for practice, Ikuya had said he’d check in on him, but he’s a little surprised to see the captain actually follow up by text the same day.

He hesitates a bit, wondering how to answer. Hiyori is a pretty private person, and Ikuya is sure he wouldn’t want to alarm anyone.

At the same time, though…he could use the proof, couldn’t he, that people care about him?

But then again, given the way Hiyori had lashed out when he and Makoto had tried to help him, before…Ikuya still doesn’t understand the reason for that, not really, and that makes him wary of betraying Hiyori’s trust.

So he tries for a midpoint—not a lie, but ambiguous enough to conceal a late-night emergency doctor’s visit. _Turns out he’s sick. I’ll make sure he sees a doctor before he comes back to practice._

Hoshikawa's response comes a short while later, sympathetic but apparently unconcerned: _OK, tell him we hope he feels better soon._ Hiyori’s too out of it for Ikuya to want to wake him to pass the message along, but resolves to do so later. He can leave it up to Hiyori what he decides to reveal.

A different idea occurs to him then, and on a whim he pulls up his conversation with his brother. They’re in similar time zones, Ikuya thinks...or he’s pretty sure, at least. He knows his brother is planning to head back to Japan the next time fares are cheap, for new year’s, but not much about what he’s doing in the meantime. 

_you awake?_ he sends, and then waits with his phone held loosely in one hand for a bit. Hiyori sighs restlessly in his ear, and he shifts, trying to find a position that puts less strain on his neck. 

The taxi’s map says they’re less than a kilometer away when Natsuya answers. _why whats up_

It’s just like his brother to completely ignore his question, though Ikuya supposes he’s technically answered it. He’s still stuck for a moment about what to say next, but he can feel Hiyori’s sticky forehead burning against his neck, and it spurs him on.

 _what do you know about night clinic intake_

_can you go into an appointment with someone if you’re not family_

Natsuya is already typing before Ikuya sends the second message.

_what happened?_

He bites his lip for a second and then plows ahead, typing as fast as he can without errors. He has to guess a bit on the kanji but he lets autocorrect guide him.

_I think Hiyori might have meningitis. we’re in a cab now_

A longer pause this time. They’re almost to the clinic, and Ikuya slips his phone into his pocket, jostling Hiyori a bit to rouse him.

He stops immediately when Hiyori makes a sound like a whimper, switches to rubbing his arm. “Hiyori. We’re almost there.”

“Hm?” The sound is barely there, but Ikuya gets the impression of a question.

“It shouldn’t be a long walk,” he says. “Just to the waiting room.”

“…Okay.” Hiyori straightens up slowly, inch by inch, and Ikuya digs out his wallet.

The taxi drops them off on the correct side of the street, and Ikuya manages to produce exact change for once in his life. He wonders whether Hiyori will protest him paying, but Hiyori just sits blankly in place until the doors open.

He scoots over to follow Ikuya out of the car, and then makes an odd lurching motion and stops, one foot out and on the pavement below the curb, staring stiffly at the ground like something about it confuses him.

“Hiyori?” Ikuya asks, and offers his hand.

Hiyori takes it, and almost tips Ikuya right back into the cab as he tries to heave himself upright. Ikuya starts to overcorrect, but recovers and ends up with one and a half arms full of Hiyori, who, after a moment of thought, he guides to lean against the cab.

“Ikuya…?” Hiyori’s voice is low, the question more implied than voiced, and Ikuya winces. Hiyori is usually so much more careful about making himself understood. It makes Ikuya think he doesn’t even know what he’s trying to ask.

“Can you climb onto my back?” he asks, and gets into position, one foot on the curb and one in the street, arms out to his sides to grab Hiyori’s legs and hoist.

“I’m heavy,” Hiyori says blankly.

“And I’m strong. I can handle it,” Ikuya promises him. Even if he couldn't normally, which he's fairly certain he could (though he's never had occasion to try it), Ikuya is fairly certain he could get by on pure adrenaline if necessary.

Hiyori leans against him, wraps his arms over his neck. He's not gripping hard enough to hold himself up. Ikuya tugs his arms together, impatient, and feels Hiyori's grip tighten. He gets his hands under Hiyori’s thighs and hoists him upwards.

For a split second Ikuya’s certain they’re about to face-plant into the pavement, but ultimately he corrects himself, feeling a muscle in his back twinge in protest as he settles Hiyori’s weight. Hiyori sits up a bit, tries to help with balance. The cab door swings shut behind them, and Ikuya focuses on getting Hiyori into the building.

"This isn't really necessary," Hiyori murmurs, apologetic, as they walk towards the door.

"You're already up there," Ikuya says, and shrugs a bit, careful not to unseat him. "It's no trouble." Besides, at this angle, Hiyori can't see much of his expression, which he knows he isn’t controlling well. This is _bad_. "How bad are you feeling right now? You seem pretty disoriented."

"You're carrying me in public," Hiyori says, and presses his face against the back of Ikuya's head. The paper mask tickles the back of his neck. He sounds more alert now, at least. "I have had so many better days."

Ikuya steps into the clinic and winces. It's a Friday night, and apparently he and Hiyori aren't the only ones experiencing some late-night trouble. The place is packed, and the sounds of bustling, phone lines, and conversations fill the air. There's a few screaming children, too, and even to Ikuya, who isn't sick at all, the lights in the waiting room are almost blinding after the dimness of the cab and street.

Hiyori makes a small, unhappy noise that Ikuya feels more than he hears.

"Put me down," he says in Ikuya's ear. "I'm going to have to talk to the people at the desk."

"Okay." Ikuya goes to the wall, so they'll have something to brace against, and crouches slowly, letting Hiyori get his feet under him. He steps clear and stands up, turning. Hiyori has one hand on the wall and the other shielding his eyes, fingers spread delicately around his glasses as he turns away from the lights. He wavers a little, leaning against the wall.

"Are you okay?" Ikuya asks.

"Fine," he says. "Head rush. Give me a moment."

"There's time," Ikuya says, and quietly takes one of Hiyori's elbows with one hand. “Does your head hurt?” 

A faint chuckle, like it’s an understatement. “Yeah.” 

“That sucks,” Ikuya answers, squeezing his arm. He’s not sure what else he can do. He stands and waits till Hiyori lowers his hand, and the two of them share a glance.

Hiyori, under the harsh lights of the waiting room, looks like hell. His eyes are slightly bloodshot, making the gold in his irises stand out starkly. There are bags under his eyes sharp enough to look like they've been cut out with a knife, angry and purple. His face is flushed, especially his cheeks and forehead, and Ikuya is close enough he can see sweat clumping his hair together at the ends.

He's not sure what Hiyori sees in his face, but it makes him straighten and raise his chin, just a bit. "Okay," he says, and walks as steadily as he can to the counter.

Ikuya stays close behind Hiyori while he talks to the nurse at the front desk, explaining that he’s ill and that this is his first visit. Hiyori produces his insurance card when asked, takes the clipboard full of forms and a pen, and almost fumbles the pen when the nurse tries to hand him a thermometer. Ikuya reaches out to grab the thermometer instead, and Hiyori shoots him a grateful look.

Hiyori leads them back to a corner of the living room that might be a little quieter and dimmer than the rest of the space, well out of the way of the desk and therefore of foot traffic. Ikuya stows Hiyori’s bag under his chair and sits. Hiyori does too, more slowly, and then laboriously rests his ankle over his knee and bends down over the paperwork, squinting unhappily.

"Here," Ikuya says, and hands Hiyori the thermometer. Hiyori takes it without looking and reaches under his shirt, placing it under one arm.

For a few seconds, he seems fine, waiting in a slightly awkward position for it to go off—but then he lurches forward, and his free hand comes up, clumsily tugging his mask free.

"Hiyori?" Ikuya asks, startled.

Hiyori just shakes his head, pressing his hand firmly over his mouth. He reaches down sharply and fumbles for the pocket of his coat, and the clipboard tumbles to the floor.

"Shit," Ikuya mutters, not sure what to do first—help Hiyori with the bag that he's still tugging out of his pocket, or get the pen which has skittered across the floor. He opts for the latter. Hiyori pins the thermometer to his side with his ebow, uses both hands to get the bag open, and sits with it waiting on his lap, breathing heavily through his nose as he adjusts the thermometer again.

"I’ll take the thermometer,” Ikuya says, having already taken the clipboard, but Hiyori just shakes his head, looking stubborn. Ikuya rubs his back, wishing he weren’t quite this stubborn.

The fit seems to pass a few moments later, but Hiyori doesn’t move until the thermometer beeps. When it does, Hiyori takes it out immediately, readjusting his shirt and sitting back with a faint groan.

"Okay," Ikuya says, plucking it out of his hand. "Stay there, I'll take it to the desk."

When he gets there, one of the nurses takes it from him and looks it over. Her eyes widen a bit, and she glances again at Hiyori where he's sitting in a corner, glancing down at the clipboard from an awkward angle. "I see," she says. "Once your friend is finished, we’ll bring him around back. His fever is high enough that we'll want to keep him on his own until a doctor can see him for a bit."

"All right," Ikuya says.

She gives Hiyori an assessing look—he’s putting his mask back on, but the bag is still visible. "Would you like a basin?" she asks.

"Yes, please," Ikuya says, embarrassed that he hadn't considered that as an option, and goes back to sit with Hiyori, who is squinting at the form again, filling it in with agonizing slowness. Ikuya takes the unused bag and folds it up again, presenting him with the basin instead.

"I can fill that out for you, if you want," Ikuya offers. "Most of it, at least."

Hiyori blinks at him, and then rasps out, "Thank you." He slumps back in his seat, just straight enough to spare his neck.

Ikuya hurries through as much of the form as he can, trying not to glance up at Hiyori too often. He doesn't like the look of him at all; he seems far too pale around the flush, the skin around his eyes nearly translucent. Beads of sweat are starting to run down his temples. He's breathing shallowly, little breaths that barely raise his stomach and chest, and his eyes are shut tight, not like he's sleeping, but like he's in significant pain.

"I'm nearly done," Ikuya says. "The rest of it are things I don't know. Would you like me to read it to you?"

"No," Hiyori says, and drags his eyes open with obvious effort. He takes a deep breath, and his smile comes out as closer to a grimace. "No, I can do it. Thank you."

He wheezes a bit as he sets the clipboard back on his knee, back bending extra to make up for his stiff neck, and Ikuya feels terribly useless. "Can I get you anything?" he asks.

Hiyori pauses for a long moment, thinking about it. "...Some water would be nice," he says absently, and fills in another line.

"Okay," Ikuya says. He's a little relieved that Hiyori will at least stop putting on a brave front long enough to ask for something. "I'll be right back. Don't try to go back to the front by yourself, okay? I'll only be a second."

Sometime during the last few minutes, the idea that Hiyori shouldn't be standing up alone has gone from a general sense of unease to a full-blown certainty in Ikuya’s mind. He's not completely sure why, but he’s unwilling to ignore that instinct.

"Okay," Hiyori agrees, and Ikuya darts back to the front desk to ask where he can get water.

The nurse looks sympathetic as she points down the hall, where there's a water cooler just visible around a corner. Ikuya thanks her and hurries off.

It's a small cup, but it'll have to do. He fills it as far as he dares and notes with approval that it's ice-cold through the thin plastic against his fingers. He realizes, for the first time, that his hands are still chilled from the night air outside, and likely from worry about how Hiyori is doing. He's always felt cold when he's anxious about something, and he is terribly anxious now.

He's on his way back when he hears a clatter, and a crash, from exactly the worst direction to hear it coming from.

Hiyori had picked an out-of-the-way corner, and Ikuya almost spills the cup he's holding as he tries to dash back within sight of Hiyori, praying that it's just a coincidence, that it's someone else who's made that noise instead.

Hiyori isn't on his chair. He's on the ground, clipboard an improbable number of feet away from him, and he’s—

Ikuya grabs the cup to his chest, heedless of spilling, and sprints across the room, dropping to his knees beside his friend. "Hiyori? _Hiyori!_ "

Hiyori is thrashing and shaking on the ground, like he's being electrocuted, like he's a fish flopping around on dry land. Ikuya sets the empty cup blindly to one side, and his hands hover awkwardly over Hiyori's body. He doesn't know what's happening and he has no idea what to do.

"Somebody help!" he yells, over the rising sounds of alarm in the rest of the room, but he can't take his eyes off Hiyori to tell if anyone is listening.

Hiyori’s face has gone dreadfully pale, and his jaw is clenched behind his mask. His glasses are askew and seem about to fly off every time his head jerks. Ikuya thinks _seizure _and then _what does that have to do with meningitis_ and he doesn't know, he's not sure anymore, maybe he's completely wrong but either way he _should have called an ambulance_ —__

____

____

"Excuse me," barks a voice above his head, and one of the nurses crouches down beside him, a folded blanket under one arm. "Can you get his glasses?"

It takes Ikuya a split second to realize the nurse is talking to him. Feeling horrifically clumsy, and terrified he's going to poke Hiyori in the eye, he reaches out with one hand and plucks Hiyori's glasses off his face. Meanwhile, the nurse slips the blanket under Hiyori's head, removes his mask, and rolls him onto one side, glancing down at a large watch on their wrist.

Hiyori's eyes are now closed, now open, and rolling wildly. He doesn't seem aware at all, not responding to anything that's going on around him. How long has it been? How long are these supposed to last?

Ikuya is struck with the thought that, just maybe, Hiyori is dying in front of him. Maybe Ikuya misjudged the danger. Maybe neither of them thought to act quickly enough.

The thought is enough to make his his panic worse when the seizure finally seems to end and Hiyori starts to go limp, extremities still twitching.

"What's happening?" Ikuya cries.

"He's coming out of it," the nurse says gently. "A little under two minutes, I'd say, which isn't outside the normal range." They take their gaze off Hiyori and look at Ikuya, eyes grave but kind. "Has this happened before?"

"I, I don't think so," Ikuya stammers out. "I don't know." Hiyori would have told him, right? he wonders wildly. He never would have hidden something that important, would he? Even if it was a long time ago?

"It's okay," the nurse says, and gestures at the entrance to the hallway. A few more nurses are rushing down to join them, and the first one draws Ikuya upright and away while they bend over Hiyori, one taking his wrist, another examining his head.

"I thought it might be meningitis," Ikuya blurts out, still watching them. "His neck was hurting. There wasn't a place to put that on the form, but..." His eyes itch; he rubs at them with the back of one hand, impatient. "We should've gone right to the hospital, I guess. Called an ambulance."

"You didn't know," the nurse says, easily. "I would guess he was doing well enough until just now. Don't worry too much, all right? We'll get him where he needs to be. He's going to be taken care of."

"O-okay."

They watch, in silence, as two more nurses come into the waiting room, carrying a stretcher. The room, once loud, is now quiet of everything but the babies (who are still wailing) and anxious, frightened whispers. There's a brace around Hiyori's neck, now, and the team of nurses rolls him onto the stretcher with efficient, coordinated movements, strapping him in across the shoulders, hips, ankles. Ikuya can hardly bear to watch, but he also can't look away.

Hiyori almost doesn't look like himself, with his face so still and his hair wild and his limbs being moved around like a doll's, and the bulky brace around his neck. Certainly he doesn't look like himself out of a swimsuit and without his glasses, which are still in Ikuya's hand.

He looks at the nurse, pleading. "Can you have someone tell me, when they figure out what's wrong? Or when I can see him, or something?"

"We'll keep you informed as best we can, as long as you're out here." The nurse squeezes his arm. "That said, you can go home if you need to. We have his information, and we'll be getting in touch with his family. You've done very well, getting him to us."

Hiyori's glasses are still in Ikuya's hand, he thinks again, and he doesn't know what to do with them. He folds the earpieces in, gently, and stares down at the smudged lenses. As long as he has them, after all, he thinks absently, he at least has a concrete reason to be here, to know what they'll be doing. To know if Hiyori is okay, if he's awake, if he needs them, or—

No, he's being unreasonable. He hands them over to the nurse, and then pulls out the bag that had been under Hiyori's seat. The nurse thanks him and goes back down the hallway, trailing after the others.

Suspecting that at least half the eyes in the waiting room are on him, Ikuya doesn't look up. He keeps his eyes on his feet and finds a chair out of the way, sitting down silently, putting his elbows on his knees and staring at the floor.

Hiyori is...gone. No, he's in the back of the clinic, being looked after, and they're figuring out what's wrong. He might be unconscious or he might be awake, and not knowing, not being able to check, is already driving Ikuya crazy. He keeps thinking he can look over his shoulder and Hiyori will be there, still miserable, still determined to make as little fuss as possible. Still smiling for him, awake and healthy and _okay_...

Ikuya puts his face in his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings** : graphic depictions of illness (specifically, meningitis and related symptoms: pain, disorientation, nausea/vomiting, seizure, medical setting. If you need more specific warnings/want to let me know about something I should add, please feel free to get in touch with me.)
> 
> * * *
> 
> I really hope I portrayed what happened this chapter accurately and sensitively. I did research, but there's only so far that can go. I don't know how well-known the symptoms of meningitis are worldwide, but through high school and college pretty much all I knew was to watch out for a stiff neck with a fever. (Hiyori has probably also heard this, but Hiyori would have mistaken his concerns for hypochondria at first if he'd had them, and wasn't thinking clearly anymore by the time he might have taken his symptoms seriously.) 
> 
> For the record, you get blanket permission to yell at me for this chapter. It's fine, hopefully I've earned it.


	22. Spill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some overdue conversations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some (relatively) mild medical discussion this chapter, but no major warnings, I think. 
> 
> Thanks as always to my friend for being an awesome beta. :D Enjoy!

His phone vibrates in his pocket, once, then again.

It’s ringing.

Half-blind, Ikuya gets up and pushes his way out of the waiting room, through the doors and around the corner, out of the way of foot traffic. He’s quick enough that his phone is still ringing when he answers.

“Hello?” he rasps, though he can guess who it is.

“Ikuya?”

He sinks into a crouch in his new-found corner. “Aniki.” 

“Just wanted to check in,” Natsuya says. “I was planning to leave a voicemail if you were busy, but…is this a good time? How’re things with Hiyori?”

“He…had a seizure after we got here,” Ikuya says, voice low. The words sound surreal even though he's the one saying them. He has no idea how to make it sound less jarring; he's just grateful his voice doesn’t break. “He’s…they wouldn’t let me stay with him. I think they’re going to take him to a hospital.”

The sound of air sucking through his brother’s teeth. “…Shit. Is it really that bad?”

“I don’t know.” Natsuya’s question doesn’t sound like dismissal or disbelief, just him trying to come to terms with it. Ikuya can sympathize with that; he feels more than a little numb, himself.

"I'm...sorry, Ikuya," Natsuya says. It sounds like it’s an effort for him to drag the words out. "If I were closer, I’d be able to get to you to help, but...even if I headed to the nearest airport right now, I don't think I'd be back in time to be able to help with much."

"I know," Ikuya says. "I just…I don't know what to do."

There’s a pause. 

“You’ve...already done a lot, I think,” Natsuya says, sounding unsure of himself, but very serious. “You got him to a doctor—that means a lot. You said he collapsed in the emergency room, right? It would've been worse if he'd been alone."

The words are supposed to be reassuring. Ikuya can tell that much even as upset as he is, but...it doesn't really help like that. He thinks of Hiyori's tired form in the doorway. How long had he spent dazed and feverish and _alone_ , for things to get this bad? Wasn't there something, anything else he could have done?

"I guess," he admits, because Natsuya is probably waiting for him to answer. "I just...I don't know what to d-do." His voice _does_ break this time; he grits his teeth and hopes Natsuya didn't hear it.

Luckily, if he did notice, he gives no sign. "Call your friends," he says instead. "They're clever, and they'll have your back. Take things at your own pace." His voice drops into something softer. "Don't freak out too hard about this. You got Hiyori to people who can help him. You're doing great so far."

The gentleness isn't particularly helping Ikuya keep things together; it's only making everything seem more real, throwing into contrast the absence of Hiyori at his side. “...Okay,” he manages. 

"Oh, and one more thing." Natsuya's voice goes hard again. "This might sound a bit heartless, but I'm serious about it, so listen. Go wash your hands, if you haven't already. And your face, and rinse your mouth. And go to the school nurse tomorrow, or as soon as you can, and tell them you've been exposed. Then do whatever they tell you."

Ikuya does want to push back—against Natsuya’s tone, if nothing else—but he bites his lip and doesn’t let himself. In all the years that they’ve known each other, Ikuya’s gotten sick far more often than Hiyori has. It feels selfish as hell to add that to even the bottom of the list of things Ikuya’s worried about at the moment, but he knows that if Hiyori were here, he'd be saying the same thing.

"I'll do that," he promises. Not to mention… "I'll tell the captain, too. This is one of those things that spreads on college campuses, right? And we've all been swimming in the same water."

"Good thinking." He can hear the sound of something moving in the background. "I'm going to do some research and get back to you, okay? Call your friends." 

"You said that already," Ikuya says. "I will. What do you mean, 'research'?"

"Just looking into anything you might want to watch out for. Let me do that part.” 

Natsuya still sounds harsh, distant, and Ikuya doesn’t like it. “Why shouldn’t I—” 

“You don't want your first time looking shit up on medical websites to be when you're panicking," Natsuya says grimly. "Trust me on that much, all right?"

Well, there go Ikuya's likeliest plans for the evening. Not that he's really thought about it. It’s hard to think beyond the next thing he’s going to do, right now. 

Still, he doesn’t argue. "Thanks, aniki."

"Any time," Natsuya says. "And I mean that. Keep me in the loop on this, and if you start to feel sick, you better go to a doctor right that second, you understand?"

"I already said I would," Ikuya says, starting to lose patience. He'd thought that Natsuya was finally getting over his tendency to go harsh and strange as soon as he gave Ikuya the slightest bit of help of attention, but here it is, happening again. He doesn't like it at all.

But then Natsuya surprises him. "Sorry," he says. "I'm just...surprised. This is really sudden."

"You're telling me," Ikuya says, but doesn't complain further. This is new.

"I..." Natsuya sighs. "This really sucks. I hope he's okay."

"Me, too. ...I'll let you know when I know more."

"Good. ...Later, then."

"Bye."

Ikuya hangs up and shivers. He takes a moment to zip up his coat. The drizzle from earlier hasn't restarted, but the cold is starting to grow teeth. He twists his fingers together, till he feels as much pain from them as he does numbness.

Call his friends. As much as he dislikes being told what to do, this time the reminder is...useful.

He flips through his phone, still, struggling with it. At least he'd been able to text Natsuya first, and he'd had an idea of what's coming...

It makes his lip tremble to think about. He doesn't want to do this to his friends, doesn't want to ruin anyone's night, doesn't want to be seen panicking, doesn't want to be a _problem._

But he needs help. He's aware, on some level, that he's barely keeping it together right now. He's not sure what would be on the other side of him losing it, but...he doesn't know what to do. He needs someone to think for him right now. 

And if it were one of them...he would want to know. He wouldn't begrudge any of them this.

So...so he should do what Natsuya said. And call.

It's a no-brainer to try Makoto first. Haru's got a habit of leaving his phone unattended, for one thing, and...under the circumstances, he doesn't really want to call Asahi, so Makoto's the next obvious choice.

He bites his lip, but still sees a faint plume of steam in front of him from his breath as he waits for Makoto to pick up the phone.

It doesn't take long. “Hello?”

“Makoto?” Ikuya says.

“Hey, Ikuya,” Makoto says on the other end of the line. He sounds pleasant enough, but a bit surprised— Ikuya realizes, with a stab of guilt, that he was probably getting ready for bed or something. “Is something wrong? You don’t usually call, especially not this late.”

Ikuya’s throat closes up for a second, a last irrational burst of fear, and when he tries to cough to clear it, it comes out on a sob.

On the other end of the line, Makoto suddenly sounds much more awake. "Ikuya? What's wrong?"

"I…I need your help," Ikuya chokes out. "Or someone's. I don't know, it's…" He pulls away from the phone for a split second to look at the screen, when had it gotten that late? "Super late, sorry, fuck, and I'm at a clinic and they're taking Hiyori to a hospital and I don't know how much they can tell me."

"A hospital?!" It's kind of amazing how high Makoto's voice can get even now, given how big he's gotten. "Wait, what happened?" He lowers his voice, a hint of assurance seeping back into it. "Start from the beginning."

So Ikuya does.

As he talks, he finds himself peering at the frosted glass, taking a few restless steps to peer around the side, wondering whether he'd be able to see or hear an ambulance, or if they’ll move him some other way. It's distracting, worrying that they might be taking Hiyori away from him or something might be happening and he's missing it, but somehow he manages to tell the story in more or less a logical order.

"Okay," Makoto says, when he finally winds down—it's an awkward ending, but it's better than continuing on into speculation, or into the parade of what-ifs and self-recriminations going through his head right now. Ikuya will need to deal with those eventually, but right now what he wants more than anything is for them to pipe down. 

“Sorry,” he says, and has to take his phone away from his face for a moment to sniff, hard. “I know it’s a lot.” 

“No!” Makoto says. “I mean, it’s awful, but I’m glad you called. Okay, you know what? I'm going to call Kisumi, and then I am going to call you back. Can you go back in and ask again? Specifically what hospital they're taking Hiyori to, if that's what's happening."

"Yeah," Ikuya says, and takes a deep breath, willing it to be true. "Yeah, I can do that. Why Kisumi?” 

“He has his uncle’s car for the weekend, I’m pretty sure. If not, we can figure it out from there.” His voice drops a bit, solemn. "Do you have any way of reaching Hiyori-kun's parents?"

Ikuya thinks hard for a second, then shakes his head before remembering that Makoto can't see him. "I don't think so. I'm pretty sure he still had his phone with him when they took him back." He pauses, thinking hard. "Maybe if I went through his dorm I could find something, but nothing specific comes to mind."

"If it comes to that, the school will have their contact information," Makoto says, "so don't worry about that for now. Go talk to the desk and I'll let you know when I’ve gotten hold of Kisumi, all right?"

"Yeah," Ikuya says. "Yeah, okay. Makoto?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks." And he hangs up before he can lose the nerve to, pushing his phone back into his pocket.

He breathes deep and exhales, watching the puffs of steam curl into the chilly air.

Then he goes back inside, to the front desk.

It takes a while to get someone’s attention and ask his questions, and although the conversation is a little more rational on his end this time, in the end he’s simply told to wait. So he does, sitting in a corner and watching the clock move. The room is slowly starting to empty out, people going into the back singly or in groups of two or three faster than they’re replaced from outside. 

It’s getting late—not so late that all the trains and buses have stopped, but late enough that some of them are probably about to. Makoto texts him to let him know that Kisumi’s on his way. Kisumi does, too—a much shorter and less ornamented text than he’s used to seeing from him. Ikuya starts to wonder whether he’ll have any answers yet about what hospital they need to head to by the time Kisumi arrives. 

The calmer he gets, the more aware he is of the suffering in this room—the screaming baby in the corner, the elderly couple with their heads bent together, one person with a stained piece of gauze staunching a cut on their forehead that's just wide enough to be producing an alarming amount of blood. Occasionally one or another of them glances over in his general direction, and he makes a game of avoiding their eyes.

It's weird, to be in here alone and in perfect health and yet feeling just as miserable and worried as most of these people seem to be. Ikuya breathes and sits still and toughs it out. He can handle weird. Hiyori is counting on him.

Eventually one of the nurses comes out to him, carrying a clipboard and a wearing harried expression. He gives Ikuya a little news. It's less than he would like, but it's the basics covered: Hiyori is currently stable, on medicines that should help with his fever and stop another seizure anytime soon, and they'll be moving him to a hospital where they can do tests. He gives Ikuya the hospital’s name and the address.

"Meningitis is a serious illness," the nurse tells him, and Ikuya can't tell if he's being scolded or that's just the guy's demeanor, "so calling an ambulance wouldn't have been the worst idea. It's best to have him somewhere with more resources at their disposal if something goes wrong." He pushes his glasses up his nose. "And by the same token, if any of these symptoms appear in anyone he's been close with, they need to talk to a doctor sooner rather than later. Even with no symptoms at all, some doctors might recommend starting antibiotics as a preventative measure, to be on the safe side."

Ikuya mentally underlines his thought about contacting his team’s advisor, Hoshikawa, and probably Hidaka's team as well, first thing in the morning. He’s probably going to need to make a list, actually—he’s worried about missing someone. He nods. "Thank you."

"Not a problem," says the nurse. His eyes soften a bit. "Do you have a way to get back home? Or to campus? You look like a student."

"One of my friends has a car," he answers.

"Good," he says. Hesitates again. "There are vending machines on the south side if you need a coffee or anything and a convenience store down the block, but if there’s anything else..."

"I'm all right, but thank you." Right now he feels like he won't need caffeine for roughly the next decade. He is still vaguely aware, on the edges of his perception, of his heart beating just a shade faster and harder than he's used to when he's physically at rest.

He goes back to sit, counting his breaths, trying to control their speed. It's isn't just the excess oxygen making him jumpy, though—his brain is doing that on its own. 

He tries to physically calm himself, and has managed a certain amount of success by the time Kisumi calls him. 

"Kisumi?" he says, phone already at his ear as he stands up.

"Ikuya, hey." Kisumi's voice is, for him, oddly businesslike. "I'm a few blocks away from the clinic. Do you want me to park and come inside? Have they told you where we're going?" 

"I already have the address," Ikuya tells him. "Just pull around to the front? I'll come meet you." 

He isn't sure he remembers what Kisumi's uncle's car looks like, especially in the dark, but luckily there aren't very many cars on the street when it pulls over, and Kisumi's turned on the light in the cab. 

Ikuya wastes no time clambering into the passenger's side. "Sorry for the trouble," he says. 

"Don't worry about it," Kisumi says. "You said you got the address, can you plug it in?" 

"Yeah." There's a GPS attached to the car, and Ikuya leans forward, beginning to fuss with the buttons. 

Kisumi doesn't start up the car again right away. "So...is Hiyori still here?" he asks. "Or are they moving him already?" 

"I'm not sure," Ikuya admits. "But it sounded like they were moving pretty fast." 

"Okay," Kisumi says. 

Ikuya gets stuck trying to find the block number before realizing he'd mistyped the postal code, and grumbles to himself as he has to start over. 

"Are you...?" 

Distracted, Ikuya looks up to see Kisumi watching him. By the time Ikuya turns his head, he's got his lips pressed firmly together, the yellow light of the cab washing the color from his face and hair. 

"Almost got it," he says, indicating the GPS. He's not sure that was what Kisumi was going to ask, though. "Sorry. I'm kind of shaken up." 

"Yeah, I bet." Kisumi says. "Is he...gonna be okay, do you think?" 

Ikuya swallows. "I don't know. I don't know anything at this point." 

Kisumi nods. "Yeah. Right, sorry. We're going to find out." 

"Yeah." Ikuya gets the address right this time, reassured when it looks like it will really guide them to a hospital. He makes a face at the ETA; it's going to take longer than he'd realized. "You don't have to do this, you know." 

"It's a bit late for that," Kisumi says, with a hint of his normal blithe humor. "But...nah, I'm good. I'm worried too, you know." 

"Yeah. Thanks." 

Kisumi smiles at him. "Hurry up and strap in." 

Ikuya obeys as Kisumi pulls back out into the street, and the GPS starts sending its instructions. 

For several minutes, all they talk about is the route and the ETA. Ikuya has the feeling that Kisumi won't stay this quiet the whole ride, but he's a little grateful for the reprieve, and even more grateful for the passing distance outside. 

He's not even sure what they'll be able to tell him at the hospital, but it should be more than at an emergency clinic, right? He needs to know what's happening, and more importantly, what's going to happen. He already promised his brother not to do research on his own, so this is the only thing he can do to find out what's going to happen. 

He's not sure if he's ever felt this utterly lost about the future, wondering what the next hours or days would bring. If he has, it's been a very long time. 

He pulls it out almost numbly. What time is it wherever his brother is? He hopes that Makoto isn't still awake, or if it's someone like Haruka then he's just going to feel worse—

—it's from Hiyori.

He almost drops his phone before opening the message, more than a little afraid of what it's going to say.

_Hey. I'm okay. They finally gave back my phone_

Ikuya's hands are frozen on his phone, and he can't even make his brain form words, let alone his fingers. An ellipsis icon appears, and he's more than content to wait.

His heart drops a little when he sees the next string of texts—how long they take to happen, the punctuation and occasional error[ include!]. Hiyori's usually faster, more careful, which tells Ikuya that whatever they've given him, it's made it harder to text—or failed to get rid of his headache, from before.

_I’m on an IV for a bunch of medicine and fluids and they're keeping me overnight and doing tests_

_hopefully it's viral but they do think it was meningitis. You were totally right_

_Sorry to scare you_

_Please wash up and get some sleep. I don't want you catching this_

Ikuya can feel his lip trembling, but that's okay because he's turned away from Kisumi, and Hiyori can't see him.

_im omw to the hospital_

There's a pause, and he puts his phone down and presses his face into his arm, where his elbow’s resting next to the window. His phone buzzes multiple times, in succession, but he can't bring himself to look at it right away.

"Everything all right?" He is so glad that Kisumi doesn't sound too upset. Instead, he’s serious but still friendly, keeping his eyes on the road.

"Hiyori wants me to go home," he says.

"That was him?" Kisumi glances over briefly.

"Yeah."

"He must be doing all right, if he's on his phone."

"Mm." Ikuya rubs his face. "I already asked you all the way out here."

"He does kind of have a point, though, doesn't he?" Kisumi makes a sympathetic face. "Don't hospitals have visiting hours? I bet we're not in them."

To avoid acknowledging Kisumi’s point, Ikuya looks back down at his phone. 

_Ikuya, please go back and get some rest._

_don't get me wrong_

_I want to see you too_

_but I'm not even sure if they'll let you in. And tomorrow or the next day isn't that long to wait_

_whatever works in your schedule. I_

_sorry. I kinda think i’ll be here a little while_

Ikuya stares down at his phone, overwhelmed and concerned and unhappier with each message. When they finally slow down, he sends one of his own.

_can i call you_

His phone buzzes within ten seconds.

_of course_

He doesn't use his phone to call that often, so it takes him a moment to navigate to Hiyori's number and hit call.

"Ikuya?"

Ikuya feels muscles in his shoulders that he wasn't even aware were tight start to loosen, because it's Hiyori's voice, unmistakable even through a cell signal. "Yeah, it's me."

"Thank god." Hiyori sighs, sounding ragged. "Are you okay? Where are you? It's getting late—"

"...Am _I_ okay?" Ikuya doesn't mean to say the words. They just slip out, and he's too surprised at what Hiyori's saying to stop them.

"...Yeah," Hiyori says, sounding blankly surprised for a moment, before continuing. "I'm sorry. I know I—I must've really scared you." 

Ikuya can feel his jaw hanging open. "Never mind me," he says, "Are _you_ okay? Did they give you, I don't know, medicine or anything? Are you hurt anywhere?"

"Right. I'm, uh..." Hiyori pauses, "I'm in some sort of prep room, I don't know, but I really feel better already, you don't need to worry about me."

"Why would I not be worried?"

The words come out sharper than he means them to, and it's not hard to picture Hiyori's wince. "I know," he says, too fast, right on the heels of Ikuya's question. "I know, that must've looked terrible, you sounded so scared, I'm so sorry I—"

"I sounded..." Ikuya stops, confusion morphing into horror. "You could _hear_ me? When you were..."

"...Yeah," Hiyori says. "I'm really sorry. I wanted to say something, anything, but...I couldn't."

Ikuya doesn't answer right away, preoccupied by trying to remember what he'd actually said. He'd been thinking a million things at once in those moments, none of them good, but what had he actually said aloud? Whatever it had been, clearly it hadn't reassured Hiyori in the least, if he thought what he should be doing now was checking _Ikuya_ was okay.

"Making me feel better was the last thing you should've been thinking about," Ikuya says finally, hoping he sounds firm and confident. "That's still true now, actually. Seriously, how are you feeling?"

"...Tired," Hiyori says quietly. "Less sick, but still kind of...floaty? I don't actually know how much of that is medicine and how much is, well..."

Ikuya bites his lip. "You shouldn't be alone right now," he blurts. "I'm with Kisumi, we're driving to the hospital. We'll be there in—"

Hiyori interrupts him, sounding upset. "You don't have to do that."

"I don't want to just leave you there—" Ikuya begins.

"You didn't leave me anywhere," Hiyori says firmly. "Ikuya. You might've saved my life tonight, from the way the doctors were talking. It's more than enough."

That might be true, but he refuses to acknowledge it. And nothing feels like enough, not tonight, not now that Hiyori’s out of his reach. "Your parents are in America, aren't they?" Ikuya says.

"I've already sent them a message," Hiyori promises. "It's early morning, I don’t know if they’re up yet—I bet once they see it, they'll call. They could call me any minute."

"I'll get off the phone with you soon, then," Ikuya says. "I'll…I'll look up the visiting hours and I'm going to be there first thing, okay?"

“You don’t have to,” Hiyori says immediately. “You finally got Terashima and Sagae to agree to weekend practices, I know you’ve been wanting—”

"There are more important things than my routine right now,” Ikuya snaps. 

"I..." Hiyori says into the silence that follows. "Ikuya. I'm fine with you visiting whenever. There's no need to mess up your schedule." He pauses. “Though...maybe practice isn’t the top priority right now, at least till you know if you’re at risk of catching this. Fitting in a trip to the health center might be better—“

“I’m not going to be okay until I know you are.”

There’s a long pause on the line, but before he thinks to check if the call has dropped, Hiyori speaks.

“Ikuya. I am being taken care of.” Hiyori’s voice is a bit strained. “I just want to know that you are, too.”

“You are in the _hospital_ and you’re worried about me,” Ikuya says.

“We…we can talk about this more later, maybe,” Hiyori says, voice faltering. He sounds odd, suddenly, but Ikuya can’t tell just from his voice what’s wrong. His heart thuds uncomfortably in his chest.

“Hiyori.”

“Look, you were right about before,” Hiyori says quickly. “I messed up, not going to a doctor sooner. But there are people now whose actual literal job it is to keep me safe, and I honestly don’t even feel that terrible anymore. But…I’m only safe now because you were watching out for me, Ikuya, and now I can’t do the same. So, yes, I’m worried about you.”

Ikuya finds, to his consternation, that he can’t think of an easy way to argue with that. He covers his phone’s microphone with one hand and turns to Kisumi, partly stalling for time and partly aware that he’s been left out of the conversation for a while now.

“So we probably shouldn’t go to the hospital,” he says reluctantly.

Across from him, Kisumi clears his throat.

"Actually," he says, "what if you stayed with us tonight? I bet Haru would be willing to put you up, and if he won’t, I can."

Ikuya blinks. "Would that be all right?"

"Depends. Do you have anything in the morning?"

"Not really."

"That's good," Hiyori says on the other end of the line, distracting him. "Just remember what I said about washing up. The only thing worse than me getting you sick would be me getting you and all your friends sick, so be careful."

"I will," Ikuya promises. He glances over at Kisumi. "Hiyori just pointed out I might be a vector for the meningitis at this point."

Kisumi makes a face. "Yeah, use someone's shower when we get back, definitely."

"I am honestly so sorry about the trouble," Ikuya begins, but Kisumi waves him off, eyes still firmly on the road.

"You can pay it back to them later," Hiyori offers, apparently listening in. "I'll help. They're doing this for me, too, in a way. Or I'm benefiting, at least."

"Kisumi being willing to ferry my useless ass around isn't really the same as doing you a favor," Ikuya chides.

"Sure it is," Hiyori answers mildly. "I'd be worried otherwise."

Ikuya pauses, takes a deep breath. He never really feels the need to question all of Hiyori’s comings and goings, but Hiyori gets like this sometimes. Usually…

Usually when Ikuya’s had a series of bad days. 

...Okay, so maybe Ikuya can kind of understand where the instinct comes from. Lately, he’s been thinking more and more that maybe he should be keeping a closer eye on Hiyori, too. But still, now is really not the time for Hiyori to be focusing on him in this way. 

"Hiyori," he begins, and then pauses, and reconsiders. He'd intended to ask _Why can you not just worry about yourself?_ But he’s pretty sure that question isn’t going to get him anywhere. Driven by some odd instinct he cannot name, what he actually asks is, "Do you actually want me to come tomorrow?"

There is a pause on the other end of the line.

"I…"

"If you don't," Ikuya continues, "then I won't."

"N…" Hiyori sounds a little bit lost, a little distant. "No, I…"

It's not a "no" that means "don't come," that much Ikuya can tell. They weren't complicated words and he didn't say them quickly, but somehow he’s left Hiyori behind in the conversation.

"Can you tell me what _you_ want, Hiyori?" he asks. He doesn't mean the question to be hard, but it comes out a little hard regardless. "Because if you're going to spend my visit to the hospital worrying about me instead of yourself, _I'm_ worried it's just going to tire you out."

"I…" There's a long silence. 

“Hiyori?” 

There’s an odd sound on the other end of the line, half-cough, half-whimper. 

Ikuya's harsh front, already shaky, drops. "Hiyori? Are you all right?"

“Give me a minute?” The words are barely more than a whisper. 

“Sure.” Ikuya waits, hand probably a bit too tight on his phone. He strains his ears, hears a staticky sound that might be a caught breath, or a rolling door, or his imagination.

Hiyori’s voice returns a moment later. "Sorry. Sorry. I’m okay. Just...not quite at my brightest, if you know what I mean."

"Do you want me to bring you anything?" Ikuya blurts.

"What?"

Somehow, Ikuya feels slightly less lost than before. "If I'm going to come, then I want to be of some use," he says. "If they tell you there's anything you should have with you, I can bring it. Or if you need any forms, or…books? What have you been reading lately?"

"I'm between books at the moment," Hiyori admits. "I've been meaning to go back to the library."

"Oh," Ikuya says, a little stumped.

"I…do want you to come," Hiyori says suddenly. He sounds…almost shy. "I know that I…that I can hover, Ikuya. I can't always control it, and I wish I could. But more than that, I care about you, and I…"

"You care that I want to see you. I believe that," Ikuya says. His grip tightens further, and he's not sure whether the creak under his fingers is his knuckles or the case he has on his phone. "Do you actually want to see me, Hiyori? Because if you don't want to, I'll still be here. The day after tomorrow, or even after that. When you get out." He swallows a lump in his throat, resolutely does not let it show in his voice. "Whenever you actually want to talk to me."

He’s sick of this. He’s so sick of it. The way that every attempt of his to help gets twisted until it’s one more thing for Hiyori to worry about. That every expression of his worry only seems to push him to lie. 

If he’s doing more harm than good, then...the least he can do is stay away until Hiyori’s strong enough to deal with him. 

There's a long silence over the phone.

"Is it okay…if we don't talk?" Hiyori asks, quietly, and pain rushes through Ikuya like a wave.

"Yeah," Ikuya says, because he'd known from the start that he was going to accept Hiyori's answer, whatever it might be.

He'd known that rejection was a possibility, but still…it hurts.

Hiyori needs space from him, and Ikuya…

"Yeah, okay," he forces out, voice carefully neutral. "Will you just tell me when you want me to see you next? I'll stay out of your way till then, I swear."

"No," Hiyori says, after a short pause. "Oh no, Ikuya, that's not what I meant!"

"Then what did you mean?" Ikuya asks, voice still leaden. He can't bring himself to hope.

"I mean…ah—." A caught breath on the phone, either an aborted cough or…something else. "Ikuya. I know I’m hurting you right now and I’m sorry. I want to make it better, but I can’t, and it’s stressing me out. I can’t just stop worrying about you, and I wouldn’t want to if I could. But...I want to see you.” A pause. "Tomorrow, if...if that's okay. And…convenient.” 

Ikuya feels a little broken up and a little elated at once. Why does the simple fact of Hiyori wanting to see him make him so happy? It’s not as though Hiyori has ever been anything less than officious, even eager. And yet, hearing him say it in so many words…

"I can come," he says, lump in his throat. "I don't mind."

“I’d like that,” Hiyori says softly.

"Then I will," Ikuya promises. "As soon as I can."

"After a good night's sleep, okay?” Hiyori says, gentle and sympathetic. “And not stressing about all this any more than you can avoid."

The tone soothes Ikuya and rankles at the same time, and Ikuya considers his next words carefully.

"I…" Ikuya pauses. "I kind of want to say that…hm."

"What is it?" Hiyori asks, voice suddenly neutral again.

"I think…until you're willing to talk about…whatever it is you don't want to talk about," Ikuya says, measuring out the words carefully so they don't go wrong, "I don't want to talk about how I'm doing, either."

There's a long pause on the other end of the phone. Ikuya feels his heart turning to stone and dropping slowly into his stomach, past his hips, sinking into the passenger's seat.

"You know what?" Hiyori's voice is surprisingly light. "That actually sounds like a pretty good idea." He goes sheepish. "I might need some help keeping that boundary, so just tell me if I get out of line. You might...need to say it a lot of times."

He sounds tired again, and guiltier than Ikuya wants. "That's okay," Ikuya says. "I will. And I should really get off the phone, because Kisumi's being a really patient about this and you did say your parents might call."

"Good thinking," Hiyori says. "I'll see you tomorrow, whenever works for you."

Ikuya decides to concede that point. "Okay," he says, "Bye. Take care," and then hangs up the phone before he can get caught in the loop of reluctance to be the one to hang up the phone.

(He doesn't know if Hiyori actually does that—they haven't talked on the phone often enough—but he knows that he, himself, is tempted.)

"Is this actually okay?" Ikuya asks, turning to Kisumi. "Because I'm serious, if it's less hassle to drop me off at my place…"

If he's just lied to Hiyori about what he's doing, he can deal with that. Especially because any possible risk will be over by the next time he sees him, and the promise he's just made with Hiyori makes it easier than it's ever been to dodge the question. He doesn't want to put Kisumi out, after all.

"Give me some credit," he says simply. "I wouldn't have offered if I didn't mean it, would I?"

"Yeah, but I've already made you get out your car at this hour…"

"Emergencies happen, man. I get it. I'm just glad you had someone with a car to call, you know?" Kisumi looks at him seriously. "And, like. I don't want to be a downer, but I'm really glad we all decided to be friends again before something like this happened." He looks back at the road. "Wanna talk about it? I just heard you tell Hiyori you didn't want to, but...I just thought I'd offer."

Ikuya takes a deep breath. "I just…it’s a lot."

"I can tell," Kisumi says. "And if I were you, I wouldn't want to be alone right now. That's another reason I'm offering."

"Yeah," Ikuya admits.

"So there you go." Kisumi glances at him. "Will you need a ride back in the morning? I did kinda promise my uncle I’d help with work, but if it’s an emergency..."

“No, that’s okay,” Ikuya says. “I’ll take the bus.” Maybe back to his campus, to see the doctors there before going over to the hospital...he tries to plot out travel times in his head. Is he really willing to wait that long before visiting Hiyori? 

Kisumi, though, just takes a breath, and then the smile is back on his face. "That aside, we're not too far off. And if we were, I'd be asking you to get my phone, because it's been buzzing in my pocket for the past ten or so minutes."

They pull into a parking garage that Kisumi says isn’t too far from his dorm, and hand it off to the late-night attendant. Ikuya steps in to pay the parking fee, not letting Kisumi stop him.

What Kisumi actually says to him isn’t what he was expecting. "So, Haru was the one messaging me."

"Haru's up?" Ikuya asks.

"Yep." Kisumi smirks. "I guess Makoto called him. I'm not sure I've ever gotten this many texts in a row from him. You should feel honored." He sobers a bit. "He's offering his apartment. You can still stay at my place, I don’t mind, but he seems pretty stubborn about checking on you."

"Oh."

"Is that okay? It’s not that far," Kisumi says, but then pauses, and adds a caveat: "If it's not, you're going to have to tell him yourself, because I don't think he's going to listen to me and apparently he's been outside my door for—” he glances down at his phone and winces slightly “—like, twenty minutes. Oops."

"Oh," Ikuya says, again. Something about Haru has a way of driving everything out of his head, making things straightforward and clear like water, straight like a pool but wavering from the intensity of the knowledge that...well, that it's _Haru_.

He still sort of can't believe that Haru is here, available to him. Someone he can physically talk to, and who will—albeit at his own pace, on his own terms—actually talk to him again.

So he follows Kisumi silently up the stairs, to one of a row of identical doors, remarkable only because a remarkable young man is standing beside it.

Slouching a bit, actually, arms folded and leaning against the wall. He's in a sweatshirt and pajama pants, with socks and shoes pulled on almost as an afterthought.

"You're going to catch a cold," Kisumi says, sounding a bit miffed, as they come up to him.

Haru turns and looks the two of them over, deliberately. "Ikuya."

"Haru."

Kisumi leans teasingly between them. "If you're going to kidnap him, can you hurry up? It’s cold out here."

Haru turns to him. “You can come too, if you want.” 

“I appreciate that,” Kisumi says, “but I think I’m good.” He turns to Ikuya. “Unless you need me for anything?” 

Ikuya shakes his head, caught off-guard. 

“Okay, good. Call me if you need to though, all right? I’ll have my ringer on.” Kisumi opens his door and waves at them. “Good night, Ikuya, Haru.” 

The door shuts again as Ikuya stares. Kisumi is so _nice_ , even if he always acts like it’s not a big deal. He gets the feeling that even Kisumi leaving like this is for his sake, though he could be imagining things. 

...It’s actually weirdly hard not to overthink it, as Haru says “Come on,” over one shoulder, already walking, and all Ikuya can do is follow him. 

They’re down the stairs and have been on their way to Haru’s apartment complex for several minutes when he speaks again. "Makoto told me about Hiyori.” 

"He tells you about a lot, doesn't he?" Ikuya says.

Haru shrugs. "If he didn't, I wouldn't know." 

There...isn’t really much to say to that. Ikuya turns it over in his head, wondering if it had been an incredibly obvious thing to say, or if there was something deeper to it. Knowing Haru, probably both. 

Haru distracts him by speaking again. “What happened?” 

Ikuya spends most of the rest of the walk trying to figure out how to explain the past few hours, only it keeps expanding into the past week or more. He keeps stopping and starting, as unsure of what he wants Haru to hear as he is of what he wants to say, but Haru just listens quietly and keeps walking. 

Ikuya finds himself running out of words for real by the time Haru’s building comes into view, and changes the subject. “I'm sorry to be a bother, but when we get to your place, can I borrow your shower?"

“Sure.” 

They walk into the building and climb the stairs in silence, and Haru opens the door before toeing off his shoes and disappearing into the back room. After removing his own shoes, Ikuya steps straight from the entryway into Haru’s shower room, tossing his clothes into a pile outside the door and shivering as the spray from the heating water dots his skin. 

A minute later the hot water starts working the tension out of his shoulders. He scrubs his hands through his hair and then examines the notably small array of Haru’s care products. If it weren't okay for him to use Haru’s things, he's sure Haru would have told him. 

He's tempted to rush so as not to waste water, but he doesn't want to run the risk of not cleaning off properly. In a brief moment of insanity, he actually considers gargling with soap, and then decides that, in the absence of a better metric for his decisions, he should probably not listen to any impulses that he can imagine Hiyori worrying over.

When he’s done, he turns off the water and pokes his head out of the shower, only for a towel to almost hit him in the face.

"Thanks," he mutters, and pulls back in before he can hear a reply.

When he sticks out his head again, a pair of pajama bottoms comes flying at him.

He keeps his head out long enough to give Haru a look this time. Then he pulls the pants on, wipes his feet on Haru’s bathmat, and steps into the main room, towel around his shoulders.

There’s a spare mattress set up on Haru’s rug, and Haru himself is sitting on the edge of his bed, on his phone. He waves it.

"Makoto is worried about you," he says. "You should tell him that I've got it covered and he should go to sleep."

"You're literally texting him right now," Ikuya says.

"He's not listening to me."

"All right, fine." He goes and picks up his phone, texts a quick _I'm fine and Haru says to go to sleep_ , then catches sight of his battery icon and grimaces. "Do you have a spare charger?"

"Yeah, hang on," Haru says. "Text Hiyori that you're okay and then you can go to sleep."

He gets up, presumably to find a spare charger, and Ikuya settles down on the mattress to do as he said. 

(It hadn’t occurred to him to do that, but now that Haru’s said it, he can immediately see the wisdom in it. Haru’s only talked with Hiyori only a handful of times, and most of those were probably at least somewhat hostile, though Ikuya wasn’t there to witness them. Why is Haru the one to think of that, when Ikuya didn’t?) 

Hiyori doesn't read his message, and Ikuya takes that as a sign that he's either talking with his parents or (hopefully) finally asleep. Haru comes back with a charging cord, and they get Ikuya’s phone plugged in. He sets his phone down on the corner of the mattress as Haru turns out the lights and stares up at the now-dark ceiling, splaying his hands out behind him to support himself.

He’d half-expected Haru to go to bed without another word, but instead Haru sits on the floor beside him, leaning against his bed. "Has anything like this ever happened before?" he asks eventually.

"Not like this," Ikuya says, and sighs, deeper than he’d meant to. "It's usually me, not him."

That's the thing, the weird thing, the worst thing—he can sort of imagine where he’d be, if their positions were reversed. The crisp feeling of sheets, blankets folded just slightly too tight over his knees; the brightness of the lights dimmed in the evening in the rooms but not the hallways, the harsh lights of fluorescents limning the door at all hours; the smell of freshly-cleaned cotton and disinfectant wrapped around him and the odd, busy quiet of the nighttime hours.

Here, though, it’s only quiet. It is peaceful. There is no sense of any urgency at all, except the echoes from earlier that evening, which are still ringing in his chest like his rib cage was a bell struck almost hard enough to shatter.

It's harder, here, to avoid hearing the noise of the fading panic ringing in his ears.

"Hm," Haru says. He rests his head on his knees and watches Ikuya, a cipher as always.

There is no night sky here, but with Haru's eyes on him, Ikuya thinks he could probably find a way to pretend there are. It feels just as rare and precious as shooting stars.

But it's just a normal dorm ceiling over their heads. He's shirtless, yes, but in someone else's pajama pants, which are a size or two too large for him, and Haru's eyes are firmly on his face. 

Something about it all makes him want to just say the things that are on his mind now, the things he’s been thinking for years. 

So he opens his mouth, but it doesn’t start where he’d thought it would. "I'm getting a taste of my own medicine," he says. "And I kind of hate it."

"Mm."

He mimics Haru's pose, resting his head on his knees. Only, instead of looking at Haru's face, he stares down at his ankles, covered in pajama pants that are ever-so-slightly damp at the hems. "I didn’t appreciate him enough," he says finally. "Or no, that's not right. I appreciated him, kind of. I just...never bothered to reciprocate."

"He didn't make it easy, did he?" Haru says, and it only barely sounds like a question.

"That's true, he didn't," Ikuya admits. He gains the courage to look up at Haru. "I don't think he knows how."

"So neither of you knew what you were doing," Haru says, shrugging a bit despite the awkwardness of it in his position. "That's not your fault."

"I knew how to be friends," Ikuya argues. "I was friends with you."

Haru props up his chin on his hands, looking over at the curtained window. His gaze slides over to Ikuya, and then away again. "We all left you," he says. "We didn't mean to hurt you by doing that, but it happened anyway."

"Yeah." He rubs his cheek against his knee, the top of it, where it's starting to itch. "I wanted…a lot of things, back then. But the biggest one was that I didn't want anything to change, and I wanted to stay with the team we had. I…I wanted to stay by your side."

Haru is silent. 

This really does feel like the pool again, Ikuya decides. But where that was beautiful and extraordinary, like a dream alighting from the sky overhead to overwhelm him in the late summer night, this feels like being wrapped up in an old, raggedy, perfectly warm blanket. It doesn't feel like this _counts_. It feels like he's found the cheat area of a video game, or something.

It feels like he can say anything. And so he says the truth that's been weighing on his heart for years, ever since middle school and seeing a boy cut through the water more gracefully than a dolphin, since he saw eyes that could shine like starlight sparking on the sea.

"I…really admired you, Haru. Honestly, I…" The words stick a little in his throat, but he's gotten better lately at telling difficult truths. "I still do. I like you, Haru. A lot."

Haru looks up at him, and his expression is impossible to read. But then he nods, infinitesimally small, almost glacial in its slowness. His voice, when he speaks, is quiet. "Even after I left?"

Ikuya freezes as the words sink into him, and he looks Haru over. It's like the room’s temperature drops a few degrees; his arms, having snuck up behind his knees, tighten, hugging them to his chest.

He wants to say _It doesn’t matter_ , but that isn't true—it hadn’t changed how he felt, not really, but it had mattered. _It's not your fault_ would be true, but he doubts Haru would believe it.

"I know you never meant to hurt me," he says, finally. "You were dealing with your own problems."

Haru shrugs, like he can’t argue that. Instead, he asks, "Is there...something you want me to do now?"

Haru seems honestly, innocently curious, but Ikuya squirms inwardly a bit as he considers the question. "I think," Ikuya says, "if you wanted to do something more than you have already, you would have done it already."

Haru looks away at that, thoughtful.

"Am I wrong?" Ikuya asks.

Within seconds, Haru's lack of an answer is an answer in itself.

"You’ve already done a lot," Ikuya says. "You swam by my side, you tracked me down when I was hurting. You trained in _three new strokes_ just to pull me back from the place where I was." He smiles, a shy thing, if perhaps a little sad. "I know you care about me."

Haru doesn't smile, but he nods.

Ikuya feels a traitorous blush run up into his cheeks, and pushes them against his knees, hiding his face. "That's…" he mumbles, "that's enough, I think."

"Really?" Haru asks.

"…Really," Ikuya decides, hugging his knees tight.

For some reason, in that moment, he finds himself thinking of Makoto. 

Not just Makoto’s kindness on the phone, mere hours ago, but also...the way that Haru and Makoto look at each other, the way they can pretty much finish each other’s sentences, the way they share everything. Makoto is closer to Haru than Ikuya could ever hope to be. He kind of thinks...no, he knows, that there are lots of people in Haru’s life who matter more than Ikuya does. Haru’s special, he leaves a mark on a lot of people, so Makoto’s probably only one example, if a telling one.

...But even Makoto hasn’t seen their shooting stars.

Makoto can’t see Haru right this second, either, with this knowing look, just barely visible through the darkness. The bittersweet turn at the corner of his mouth gives Ikuya the mysterious feeling that Haru understands what he’s saying better than he does himself. 

And...Ikuya realizes that he can accept this. If this is the part of Haru he gets to see, the part he gets to keep in his memories, the part he gets to catch a glimpse of every once in a while…it's enough.

He'll find a way for it to be.

"Okay," Haru says, and then again, softer, "okay," and it sounds like he's talking to himself more than he's talking to Ikuya.

Ikuya stays silent. The towel is growing chilly around his shoulders, so he folds it up and puts it to one side, shivering a little. The apartment’s reasonably well-heated, but maybe a little drafty close to the floor.

Haru gives him a slightly arch look. "Do you want a shirt?"

Ikuya buries his face in his hands. "Yes, please."

Haru crosses the room in a few steps and hands Ikuya the shirt this time, instead of throwing it at him. Ikuya pulls it on and shivers for a moment before finger-combing at his hair.

"Ready to sleep?" Haru asks.

"Yeah," Ikuya says, "yeah, I think I am.” 

“Good.”

There’s a rustle of blankets as they climb into their respective beds. From his angle, Ikuya can only barely make out Haru’s silhouette over his bed frame. 

There are a few minutes of silence, enough to wonder whether Haru’s fallen asleep already—it’s hard to tell—and then Haru shifts, and speaks softly. “Good night, Ikuya.” 

Ikuya smiles at the ceiling. The expression comes easily to him, soft. "Night, Haru,” he says back quietly. 

Haru hums at him and turns over, breaths evening out, just barely audible in the silence.

Ikuya pulls his blanket tight around his shoulders, closes his eyes, and counts his breaths until he falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, after all that stuff last chapter, what y'all wanted was...*looks at smudged writing on hand* a HaruIku confession scene, right? 
> 
> But more seriously, this was a moment I really wanted to happen, and Ikuya has his reasons for doing it now. (Maybe not all the best ones, but his heart's in the right place...)
> 
> See you next week!


	23. Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ikuya gets the worst phone call of his life so far. 
> 
> (Please check the warnings, especially if the last few chapters have edged towards anything sensitive.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see the warnings in the end notes if where last chapter left off concerns you in an "I need specific warnings" way. (Spoiler-free warning: it's mostly more of the same, continued from last chapter, but more extreme in places.) 
> 
> Slightly early update, because it's Friday in my timezone and I'm too excited to sleep. (The reason for that's _also_ in the endnotes. ;D )
> 
> Thanks to my lovely beta for saving me from myself, and inspiring a few extra little details!

Ikuya wakes up earlier than he means to the next morning, when the light outside is still dim. It's late enough in the year that he still has to check his phone to be sure of what that means, and when he does, he discovers two things:

First, it's later in the morning than he'd expected—not quite the beginning of the hospital's walk-in hours, but soon enough that he should get going soon if he wants to be there when they start.

The second thing that he notices are new messages from Hiyori, but that doesn't bother him until he sees that they're from several hours ago. He opens them as he’s still processing this, and what they actually say sends a chill down his shoulders, running the length of his spine. 

_actually you might want to wait on the visit. it's bacterial and they're saying I might need surgery_

_please, PLEASE go to your doctor right away. show them this_

Next is a slightly lopsided photo of what Ikuya makes out to be a medical chart, laid against what he recognizes as a hospital bed, and that's all.

Ikuya's stomach goes hollow, and he stays there, bunched up on the floor under the blankets. Then he messages his brother, attaching Hiyori's photo.

_keeping my promise but I dont want to. I know this isnt anything good, Hiyori mentioned surgery. yes Im going to a doctor_

He goes back to his conversation with Hiyori, but it’s hard to look away from his last messages and the photo long enough to reply. _Im coming like i said. see you soon_ he messages eventually, then places his phone firmly face-down on the mattress beside his head. 

He is seriously debating the merits of calling his brother or giving up and looking up bacterial meningitis when he's distracted by a sound. Or rather, the absence of a sound; he hadn't registered the muted rushing of water through the wall of the apartment until it stopped.

He hadn't forgotten that he was in Haru's apartment, exactly, but it takes him a long moment to accept that the conversation the night before actually happened, with what's happening now. They somehow both feel like the opposite sort of dream, with him caught in the middle trying to fit everything together. 

He pushes himself up anyway, folds up the mattress and the blanket on top of it out of wooden politeness, and waits for the rest of his body to catch up with his whirring brain, his pounding heart. Maybe he's gotten used to sleeping in a bed lately, because standing from the ground makes his legs unsteady. He dresses quickly in yesterday’s clothes, then goes to Haru's sink and takes a glass from the cupboard, shivering at the cold floor against his bare feet.

There's a faint creak from Haru's bathroom door. Ikuya knows enough about his morning habits to know that Haru is decent before he turns around. He's never been anything but modest, at least if jammers qualify as modesty on their own.

"Morning," Haru says.

Ikuya nods back. "Yeah. Uh—change of plans. I’m still going to the hospital to see if I can get in to their visiting hours, but I'm going to the doctor first thing after that, and you probably should too." He’s fingering his phone in his pocket, not quite taking it out but unwilling to let it go.

"What happened?" Haru asks.

"Hiyori messaged me again," Ikuya says. "It's…it sounds bad."

Haru blinks at him, eyes serious. "How bad?"

"I don't know," Ikuya says. "He sent me a picture of his chart, and said it’s bacterial, but I don’t really know what that means. Aniki told me not to look it up, so I haven’t, but...everyone's been very serious about telling me to go to a doctor and saying I’ve been exposed, so...you should all probably do it, too."

“Okay,” Haru says. “I’ll pass that along.” 

Ikuya privately suspects that Makoto will end up doing most of the actual message-passing, but it doesn’t matter as long as it happens. “Can I have a mask?” he asks. He’d left all the spares in Hiyori’s bag.

Without a word, Haru strides across his apartment and opens a cupboard, passing him a wrapped face mask.

“Thanks.” Ikuya takes a moment to pull it on. "I really hope I didn't give you anything.” 

“You have enough to worry about,” Haru tells him. “We’ll be careful.” 

“...Right.” In some ways Haru's gotten more stoic as he's gotten older, or maybe Ikuya's memory is still faulty. But there's a weight behind his words now that maybe only age can bring. Or...Haru was always kind, but maybe he's just gotten kinder.

Still pondering it, Ikuya finishes his drink and ducks back into the bedroom, gathering his things and doing one last sweep of the room to make sure he hasn’t forgotten anything. 

"Okay, heading out. See you," he says, passing Haru in the hallway. Just before he leaves, he finds himself turning around and adding, "Seriously, thank you so much."

"You're welcome," Haru says, still in the doorway to his bathroom, but he gives Ikuya that smile again, the barely-there smile that somehow makes him think that good things are just waiting to write themselves out against the sky, if he can only muster the patience and determination to spot them.

Ikuya has to force the smile he gives him before he leaves, but he means it anyway.

* * *

On the way to the hospital, Ikuya can't take his hand off his phone. He tries not to look at it every three seconds, staring at the instead out at the wintry gray sky through the bus windows. There's less to look at when he switches to the trains, the shadowy subway walls whipping past faster than his eyes can follow, but also less room to get out his phone and look. Besides, he'd have felt a message come in.

He's worried about that photo. He doesn't know if he could understand it if he tried, and is pretty sure that trying is only going to make things worse, especially when he's going to see people who will hopefully explain things to him in person.

He makes it halfway through the train leg of his trip before he finally gives up and checks his phone. Sure enough, there's no sign that Hiyori's read his message.

The hospital is an intimidatingly large complex to exist this far into the city. It's spread across several buildings, and it takes him nearly twenty minutes just to find the right reception desk. When he does, he rattles off Hiyori's information as best he can, along with his own, and then waits as the receptionist goes through her records.

She frowns. "I don't suppose you're family?" she asks him.

Ikuya feels himself glare. "No," he says.

"I'm sorry," the receptionist says, looking sympathetic. "I'm afraid it isn't possible to see him right now."

Ikuya stops and stares. "I'm a friend of the family," he tries, mouth suddenly dry. "If you ask him, he can..."

"I'm sorry," the receptionist rephrases, not unkind but very firm. "He cannot see any visitors at this time."

Something about the way that she says it makes his jaw clench. "Can you let him know I came, at least? I promised him I'd visit."

She looks sad. "I'll leave a note in his file," she says.

He's not sure what he is and isn't allowed to ask, but he has to try. His voice feels very small in his chest as he asks, "How is he doing?"

She looks back down at her screen when he asks that, and keeps looking for a long time. "He's...undergoing treatment for complications from bacterial meningitis," she says. "His prognosis is unclear, and he has a team reviewing his case and considering the best way forward."

Ikuya stares at her. Is it meant to be a non-answer, or is he just too stupid to understand what she's telling him? "Does that mean you can't tell him I'm here?" he asks finally.

"He isn't awake right now," she says, and now she sounds kinder, like maybe she's taken pity on him. "I'm sorry, but that's most of what's written here."

He can't even tell if she's trying to be helpful or not by being vague. Is it because he's not family, or just that there's nothing he can do right now? "All right," he says. "Thank you."

She bobs her head as he turns and heads for the door, trying not to fume too visibly.

In some part of his mind, he's been thinking about the hospital visiting hours since the moment the emergency room doors closed behind Hiyori on his stretcher. Planning out logistics, trying to figure out how long each day he could stay around, how many things he could get out of to stay with Hiyori as long as possible. Preparing arguments in the back of his head for when Hiyori criticized him for letting himself get preoccupied, like staying with him could somehow be a waste of Ikuya's time.

But it turns out it isn't up to him at all. Or at best, he's going to have to work for it to get the permission he needs.

Since he doesn't know how long that will take, he decides to take his brother's and Hiyori's advice and head back to his school's clinic.

It's a long ride back, and more frustrating than his ride out. Music usually helps it go by faster, but it doesn't seem to help as much this time; he gets as lost in it as ever, but he keeps snapping out of it to find that he's still not back at campus yet. He jogs all the way back to his dorm, changes clothes, and fills his bag at top speed out of sheer frustration.

Despite how endless the day has felt, by the time he gets to the student clinic it's barely past noon, and fortunately there aren't too many students waiting ahead of him.

When he gets in to talk to one of the doctor’s assistants, he is listened to quietly and seriously, and then sent back out to the waiting room. He’s called back in a few minutes later.

The doctor asks him a few questions, and Ikuya struggles to remember the name of the strain before giving up and showing her Hiyori's photo. She double-checks the medical records on file with the school, and tells him that they say he seems to have a vaccination against that type. Still, she prescribes him a run of antibiotics and asks him to come back in a few days to get a booster shot. There haven’t been any other cases of this strain of meningitis in the area lately, but she says something about making inquiries, and thanks him for coming in. She assures him that meningitis doesn’t spread easily, but warns him to come back if he experiences a fever or a bad headache. Ikuya promises to follow her instructions. 

Being taken seriously and talking with people who have answers for him should have made him feel better. In a way, it does—he’s done what people have asked, and it’s a relief to strike himself off the list of things to worry about—but they’re not the answers he wants most.

He heads straight for the bus stop from the student clinic, since he already has everything he needs with him. It is all he can do to keep moving forward, and not think. Or rather, he's had the same thought so many times over now that he’s hoping eventually it will just become background noise.

 _What if…_

He cuts it off, over and over and over, but stopping the words doesn’t stop the feeling of unease behind them. He knows what he’s thinking, and suspects that dwelling on it won't solve anything.

He comes to the bus stop and is pulling out his headphones when his phone vibrates in his pocket. It's a number he doesn't recognize, and he stares between it and his watch. He has a minute before it arrives, he decides. He can get on if it's a spam call.

"Hello?"

The voice on the end is female, one he doesn't recognize. "Is this Kirishima Ikuya?"

"Yes," he says. "May I ask who's calling?"

"This is Toono Miyuki. I'm Hiyori-kun’s mother."

His heart sinks. "Of course, Toono-san. It's been a while."

"It has. I wasn't sure you would still be using this number. You gave it to us when you and Hiyori-kun moved back to Japan, remember?"

"I think so," Ikuya says. He pauses, asks the next question with a great deal of caution. "How is he?"

"I…I wanted to thank you for taking him to that clinic," Toono-san says, instead of answering him. "If you hadn't…he might not still be here right now."

Ikuya's blood runs cold. "Wait, are you saying…"

"My husband," Toono-san says, still matter-of-fact, rushing a little, "is going to try to get the first plane back to Japan. At a time like this, our son should have someone by his side, but the doctors told us that there's a chance that he won't make it that long."

The words sound like they're coming from far away. Ikuya takes a few, stumbling steps backward to lean against the bus stop overhang. Dimly, he sees movement in front of him and hears the sound of a bus’s doors closing, but doesn’t have the energy to see what it means. "Then…Hiyori is…"

"They’re putting him in a medically-induced coma and getting him ready for surgery to relieve the pressure on his brain," she says plainly. "They said they can’t guarantee that it will work, or what state he’ll be in after. They did say if he makes another day or two, his chances will improve, but…well."

Ikuya's heart is pounding in his chest. He tries to breathe in, but it feels like something's gone wrong inside of him.

"Anyway," she continues, suddenly brisk. "We thought that maybe we shouldn't contact you, but…after all the help you've been, you deserve to know. And. And we've told the staff to treat you as family."

Ikuya finds his voice. "Thank you," he says, and it comes out raspy, a little desperate.

"You don't have to go," she says immediately. "We aren't expecting you to visit him, when you've done so much already. But if you'd be willing…" Her voice softens, for the first time since she's started calling, and Ikuya can hear it tremble a little, even across the line. "Hiyori knows you pretty well, and he…he would appreciate it, I think, to have someone with him, if…if he really is..."

"I'll go," Ikuya promises, rushing, because as much as he'd wanted to know more it really hurts to hear this. "I'll go now. I won't let him be alone, no matter what happens."

"You don't have to," she says again, but the words are weak, wilting.

"I'll go now," Ikuya promises. "Thank you for telling me. I thought they wouldn't let me see him."

"It's the least we can do." There's a pause on the line. "Kirishima-kun…"

"Yes?"

"Thank you. For being a friend to Hiyori-kun all these years." There's a rush of static on the other end of the line, and it sounds a little like a sniff, or a cough hiding a sob. "He's always been…a bit of an odd child. Quiet, independent...it's hard for him to make friends."

"He's the best friend anyone could ask for," Ikuya chokes out. "I'm the one who should be thanking you. He's looked out for me all this time."

"Yes, well." A small cough. "Thank you, Kirishima-kun. Until we meet again."

"Goodbye," Ikuya says, and hangs up the call and immediately looks up the bus schedule to the hospital.

He should never, never have left Hiyori's side, he thinks. He should have made Kisumi take him to the hospital and camped out in the waiting room. He should have tracked down Hiyori's parents' phone numbers and demanded permission to stay with him himself. He should have…he should have…

The next bus doesn't leave for almost twenty minutes. It'd be just as fast to head for the train on foot, if he hurries.

He swears to himself, checks the route on his phone, and breaks into a run.

* * *

He gets odd looks from a few students and other passersby, running at nearly top-speed in an outfit that clearly isn't suited for it, sweating and gasping in his coat with his scarf trailing behind him.

He doesn't care. It's a relief to run, to push himself, to feel like he's doing something, even if it will take some time to get where he really wants to be.

He thinks of calling the others. Several times, actually—thinks of telling them in the group chat, at least, something, anything to free some of the terrible thoughts that are spinning like a hurricane through his head and his chest...but somehow, he can't bring himself to.

He thinks of calling his brother, and thinks that will be impossible, too. But then, to his own surprise, he does, pausing for a minute to start the call and then immediately picking up his pace again.

It picks up on the second ring. "Ikuya," Natsuya says. He doesn't sound pleased.

"I know it's bad," Ikuya says. "Really bad. Hiyori's mother just called and said. She says...the doctors say he might..."

Natsuya sighs, cutting off what he can't say. "That matches what I've found, I think. I'm sorry."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Why do you sound like that?" Natsuya asks, instead of answering. "Where are you?"

"On my way to the hospital," Ikuya says grimly. "Hiyori's parents gave me permission to…to be with him. In case he doesn't...until they get back from America."

"You've been to a doctor?"

"Yes," Ikuya growls. "Yes, it was the first place I went, and if Hiyori…if I left him alone for that, then I'll never forgive myself."

There's silence on the other end of the line, and Ikuya wonders if his brother can tell how angry he is, right now. Angry at Hiyori, and Natsuya, and Hiyori's parents, but most of all mad at himself. For being weak, for listening to other people, for putting himself first when his friend needed him most.

"Go be with him," Natsuya says. "Tell me how it goes. One word, and I'll come back. Okay? I'll come be by your side if you need."

"Thanks," Ikuya says, and swallows. "But don't bother. I can handle it."

Natsuya sighs. "I care about Hiyori too, you know."

Ikuya actually stops at that, stumbling to a halt. "You have a funny way of showing it!" he shouts into the phone. Passersby are staring, but he doesn't care. His throat is tight and his face is hot and there are tears at the corner of his eyes and he doesn't care about any of it—he's full to bursting with rage and self-loathing and he needs someone, anyone to understand how he feels right now.

"I'm sorry," Natsuya says, voice tinny and faint through the speaker now that it's far away from his ear. "You've always been my first priority. I'm sorry."

"You used him," Ikuya says. "You _used_ him, and you encouraged me to do the same damn thing. For _years_."

"You're right," Natsuya says, voice raw. "You're right and I'm sorry, Ikuya."

"He cried about it," Ikuya says. "Finally. He finally had a breakdown a week ago, you know that? And he almost kept me out of it, because he thought he had to protect me _just like he always has_."

"You came through for him," Natsuya says desperately. "You helped."

"He always looked up to you!" Ikuya yells. "More than me, even! He went behind my back to tell you things and it must've been hard on him, but he always looked at you like you were the coolest person, like he had to do everything you said—”

"Ikuya," Natsuya is saying, and then, when he doesn't slow down, says it again, louder: " _Ikuya_. Listen to me."

He has to stop for breath anyway, lungs stinging in the wintry air. "What?" he hisses.

"I know you're upset," Natsuya says. "And you're right—I have a lot to apologize for. Do you want me to just get that ticket now? I can come back, so I can be around no matter what happens."

"No," Ikuya says, suddenly spent. He starts to walk again, keeps his head down, almost stumbles. "No, there's no point. You just said so yourself."

"I mean it," Natsuya says. "I'll get the tickets, I'll come back. There's every point. I want to be there for you. And Hiyori—you're right, I owe him too."

"Aniki," Ikuya says, and it's like there's a dam in him, bursting. It's all he can do to put one foot in front of the other; his eyes keep blurring. "Nii-chan. What do I do if he—if he—”

He can't say it. He stifles a sob behind his hand and walks faster.

"You'll get through this, Ikuya," Natsuya says. "I think Hiyori will, too. He's tough, after all."

"If he doesn't," Ikuya says, "I don't…I can't…"

When did his life change so that he couldn't imagine it without Hiyori in it?

He'd known what life would be like without Haru and the others. He hadn't seen it coming, but he'd known what it meant from the moment it happened. It had sucked, it had almost broken him, but he'd known what it would be like, and he'd gotten through it.

Hiyori…he actually can't imagine it.

He doesn't need him around every day, for everything. But…for the moments when he does, what would happen without Hiyori there? When he doesn't want to get out of bed, who would come badger him? Who would make him eat? Who would remind him of assignments and appointments and obligations? Who’d talk about training regimens late into the night until he’s ready to sleep, and remind him that he isn’t as useless as he sometimes thinks he is? Who’d stop him from pushing himself too hard, and catch him when he inevitably manages to anyway?

How do other people do it, not having a Hiyori in their lives?

With how much he thinks of him, now, dozens or hundreds of times a day, every little thing reminding him of the way their lives are entwined…how could he stand being reminded, every single one of those times, that Hiyori is gone?

"You'll get through it," Natsuya says again, heavily. "One way or another, little brother. I promise. You'll have people to help you, no matter what happens."

"...Thanks," Ikuya gasps, because it's true, and he'd needed to hear it. "I…I just need to go be with him now."

"You do that," Natsuya says. "Keep me updated. Call me whenever. I'll let you know when I'm coming back."

"You don't have to," Ikuya starts, but Natsuya brushes him off.

"I'm coming. Hang tight till I get there, okay?"

"Okay," he whispers. "Thanks, nii-chan."

"You're welcome. Go be there for Hiyori till I can, too."

The call disconnects, and Ikuya breaks into a sprint. The station’s close; he can catch his breath when he’s on a train. 

He needs to be by Hiyori's side.

* * *

He gets into the hospital gasping, having almost collided with the automatic doors, and goes straight up to the receptionist. She’s a different one from before, so he gives his name and Hiyori's again. "His parents said I could visit him," he adds, while she types something into the computer and looks at him.

"Can I see some form of ID, please?" she asks, and Ikuya digs out his wallet and hands her his ID, feeling desperate hope stirring the pit of his stomach—he hadn’t been asked that before. "Thank you."

She looks it over for a minute, checking it against something on the screen, and then hands it back. "Thank you, Mr. Kirishima. Your friend is currently in a private intensive care room, and for the moment he's stable. You can go up and visit him now, if you like, but he's still in a medically-induced coma, so you won't be able to talk to him."

"I…" Ikuya hesitates, then forces himself to ask. "I heard he was undergoing surgery."

She checks the file again. "It says here that the surgery was cancelled," she says.

"Cancelled?"

"You'll have to ask the nurses in charge," she says. "If you ask someone up there, I'm sure they'll be able to explain the situation. Especially if you're reporting to his family in their absence?"

Ikuya doesn't know if that was supposed to be part of the deal he was signed up for, but he's more than happy to do it if it gets him information. "I will," he says.

"Great," she says, and gives him directions to Hiyori's room.

It's a long and tumultuous ride up the elevator, through to the single-occupancy rooms in the intensive care unit. Ikuya's thoughts tumble over themselves in his mind. "Stable" was not what he'd feared to hear about Hiyori's condition. He'd had half-formed fears of waiting outside an operating theater, wondering whether Hiyori was inside breathing his last. This...isn't that, at least, but he’s not completely sure how much better it is. 

He gets out of the elevator and follows the signs to the area with the staff. He introduces himself and is led by a kind-faced nurse to the correct room with Hiyori's familiar name written in an unfamiliar hand. It's not like that when he steps in and Hiyori is attached to tubes and wires and an oxygen mask, a nest that Ikuya knows even before he’s told that he isn’t supposed to touch.

The nurse picks up Hiyori's chart and reads it for a bit, then translates parts of it into something Ikuya’s a bit more capable of understanding. The surgery didn't happen, he explains. It was planned because the swelling around Hiyori's brain was dangerous, but during the preparation it showed signs of going down in response to the medication Hiyori had been given. Ultimately, the surgeon in charge had decided the procedure wasn't worth the risk of complicating the infection, and Hiyori had been brought back, still unconscious, to this room to continue recovering.

"When will he wake up?" Ikuya asks.

“We’re keeping him under until we’re sure that the swelling won’t pose a risk,” the nurse says. “So not today, but as long as he keeps improving, hopefully soon.” 

"And he's okay?" Ikuya asks. "How will I know if he's...?"

The orderly gestures to the machines. "These will let us know if there's anything startling in his vitals. Otherwise, if you have any concerns, you can feel free to call someone at any time." He points out the call button, and Ikuya smiles weakly, thanking him. He leaves with a small bow, shutting the door quietly behind him, and Ikuya is in the room, alone, with Hiyori.

He turns his phone over in his hands, considering his options, before sending a short text to Hiyori's mother, making an effort to be polite. He’d have preferred to call, but he has no idea if she’s still awake and would rather not alarm her. 

_Hiyori's doing okay. His condition improved suddenly, so the surgery was canceled. He isn’t awake, but they say he’s stable. I'm with him now._

He texts Makoto next. _it got bad, but it seems like Hiyori’s ok for now. with him at the hospital. his parents got me permission to visit while they're overseas_

He thinks hard about it, and texts the Hoshikawa next, asking him to call at his convenience. He keeps his phone on vibrate and balances it on his knee, waiting.

The replies come in seemingly at random—an acknowledgment from Makoto, followed by a request to have a conversation in a group chat. Ikuya agrees, starts typing up a summary. While he's puzzling over that, Hiyori's mother replies with a string of questions. Ikuya tells her she can call him, then goes back to editing his group message until she does call. He answers her questions as best he can—his answer is, too often, "I don't know," and at one point he actually digs into his bag and pulls out a notebook and pen to write down her questions. He hears the noise telling him that someone else is calling him, but ignores it until Hiyori's mother is done calling. She promises again to send the information about her husband's flight, but she seems a great deal less tense than she had previously.

Ikuya hangs up, sees Hoshikawa's name in the call history, and calls him back. There are other texts blowing up his phone, but he wants to get this conversation out of the way first.

"It's Kirishima," he says, when Hoshikawa picks up. "Sorry about before—I was on the phone with Hiyori's mother."

He explains, briefly, the nature of the scare Hiyori's been through over the past two days. He mentions the nature of the infection, that he's already getting treatment of his own, and asks if Hoshikawa can tell the team advisor to speak to the nurse's office and possibly the people in charge of the pool.

Hoshikawa sounds really concerned, asking after Hiyori more than what he’s sick with, and seeming very concerned for Ikuya as well. He offers to speak with Ikuya's professors on his behalf, which Ikuya finds touching. He promises to make a list of Hiyori's professors, and his, too, especially the ones he's supposed to have class with over the next few days.

"I'm going to stay with him as much as I can," he says. "His parents are out of the country, so...I guess I’m what he’s got." It doesn’t feel like enough, but admitting that won't help anything. 

"That's good of you," Hoshikawa says. "Let us know when he can have visitors. We'll come by—well, some of us, anyway. Maybe in shifts. If everyone came at once, it'd get rowdy."

"I will," Ikuya promises, and makes another note in the notebook balanced on his knee. He is quickly becoming the center of a communications web, and he's worried he's going to forget something important.

"Good," says the captain. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to text or call—me or any of the rest of us. I'll explain things to the rest of the members."

"Thank you," Ikuya says. "I really appreciate all this."

"That's my line," says the captain. He sighs. "Toono's a tough guy to read; it's hard to even tell if he's having a hard time at all, much less how bad it is. I'm glad you're around to look out for him."

It's the first time, in a very long while, that anyone's put it to him that way around. Ikuya chokes on it a bit. "Sure," he manages. "I'm just glad...it seems like he's going to be okay. It was pretty bad this morning, I guess."

The captain hisses in sympathy. "Yeah, I'll make sure word gets around. Remind the others of the symptoms, bully them into the nurse's office. The works."

"Thank you," Ikuya says again. "Hiyori would hate to see other people get sick because of him."

"We'll make sure it doesn't happen," Hoshikawa assures him. "Take care, now. And get in touch if you need anything—either of you."

"I will," Ikuya says. "Thanks again." And, feeling awkward for having thanked the captain three times in less than three minutes, he ends the call and gets back to the group chat. There's a lot of explaining to do.

And…he owes his brother a phone call, too. _theyre saying Hiyoris gonna be okay,_ he texts. _probably, anyway. im with him_

After a minute, he adds, _u really don't need to come back_.

 _too late_ , comes back almost immediately. _plane ticket isnt refundable. ur stuck with me_

Ikuya sighs, but it's fond. _ur not crashing in my dorm_

_ill figure something out_

Ikuya shakes his head at his phone, and flips back to the group chat, still trying to navigate explaining how bad things got without scaring Makoto and the others too badly. A few texts are coming in from other team members, too—people Hoshikawa’s already talked with, probably. He's going to need to have a conversation with Shin and Kotarou, but that's going to be a problem for later. He can't deal with it right now.

Ultimately, though, once the explanations have been beamed out into the biggest parts of his and Hiyori's collective network—especially once he's explained things to his brother, including a slightly tense phone call that he cuts off because he’s juggling two other conversations and wants to find another nurse to ask questions. Finally, though, there's nothing to do but dig Hiyori's charger out of his bag, attach it to his phone, set it on his desk, and watch Hiyori breathe.

It's soothing. The beeping of the machines, which had been background noise while Ikuya was focused on spreading the word, comes forward to the front of his attention, and Ikuya spends a little time trying to figure out where each sound comes from. The hiss of air to the oxygen mask, the very quiet beeps from the heart monitor, the periodic beeps that seem to come along with an updated set of numbers and a graph that mean something well beyond Ikuya's understanding. It all seems very calm.

In the end, Ikuya can't get his fill of staring at him. This stays true the first time the door opens and a nurse comes in to look over the machines, giving Ikuya a polite greeting and not much else, looking Hiyori over with a few cursory pokes and prods, and then leaving again. It's true straight through until the second time.

Ikuya, suddenly, cannot get enough of the sight of his friend. It's like he's trying to make up for every moment in the last nearly sixteen-odd hours, now, that he hasn't had Hiyori in sight. Every inch of him, the normal and the abnormal, stands out starkly in Ikuya's view.

His hands, unusual only in their stillness, rest on top of the covers. He's wearing a pulse monitor on one finger, and there's a catheter sticking out of the back of his hand and another attached to an IV bag in his elbow. There’s a weird device he doesn’t understand on his head, probably to monitor his brain. Except for his chest rising and falling with mechanical steadiness, he is entirely still.

His face is the part that Ikuya keeps coming back to. Pale and pebbled skin dry with very little sign of sweat, his hair hangs loose and limp on his forehead. Of course he isn't wearing his glasses. The shadows under his eyes are pebbled and dark, deep purple, like before. Instead of being flushed, as he'd been with his fever, he now looks incredibly pale. Ikuya really tries not to look too hard at the tube going into his mouth, but doesn’t always succeed. 

Ikuya wants to take his hand and squeeze it, run a finger along his cheek, brush his hair out of his face. It isn’t safe right now, though, and something about not knowing how Hiyori would feel about that makes him think he wouldn’t do it even if it were.

So he watches, and when he finds himself thinking that Hiyori is still, somehow, unreasonably far away, he reminds himself of how lucky he is to have him under his eyes, if not his hands. And then he goes digging in Hiyori's bag to find his textbook for a class they share, keeping one wrist outstretched on Hiyori's shin, and starts to review it, trying to pass the time. 

It’s a useless attempt at first; his eyes keep drifting back to Hiyori. Then it occurs to him that maybe Hiyori can hear him. Not only is the idea somewhat comforting, it gives him an idea. 

He stays, studying out loud and offering his commentary on their shared homework, until visiting hours are over. His throat is hoarse at the end of it, and when he checks his phone in the hallway, he finds he’s missed a couple of new messages. 

It doesn’t matter, though; Kisumi is waiting for him in the hospital waiting area anyway, even though he’d never responded. 

Under the fluorescent lights, he looks pale and grim, the color washed out of his hair and his trademark smile absent. He looks grimmer still when he gets a good look at Ikuya's expression, and Ikuya's grateful that he doesn't try to make him talk as they head back to his car. His throat is sore from hours of talking already, and he seems to have run out of words.

"Wanna stay at my place tonight?" he asks as they climb into his car. "Makoto also offered."

Ikuya should refuse. He's got practice tomorrow, technically. He grabbed the key to Hiyori's dorm before leaving—he could go back to Hiyori's place and see if there's anything he's missed, straighten his dorm, do _something_ productive. Sleep in his own bed like a responsible student.

But he nods, throat tight.

Kisumi gives him a nod and a small smile, and pulls out of the hospital parking lot and into the winter night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings:** Medical treatment description (including intubation, IVs, etc.), hospital setting, discussion of possible major character death. As always, please let me know if anything is missing or not specific enough.
> 
> * * *
> 
> I completely made up Hiyori's mom's name. (Fun fact, Miyuki is also the name of Gou's voice actor! I only know because I googled it to make sure none of the characters already had it.) This is totally coincidental, and the kanji are different—the kanji I went with mean _beautiful snow_. 
> 
> If you're curious at all about the facts behind the medical stuff I wrote in this and the last chapter, I've got some first-aid-based info related to the things that have happened in the last few chapters over on my writing Tumblr. Please [check it out](https://kinosternon.tumblr.com/post/621898566475104256/cscg-some-medical-links) if you're so inclined! (I am not knowledgeable enough to be able to recommend more technical medical information, but I am reading through some of it in my attempts at vague accuracy.)
> 
> ALSO: Frozensify over on YouTube made a [CSCG trailer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2NLfid6saSQ)!! I can't believe it, or get over how gorgeous it is. Go take a look!!!
> 
> (Related: Y'all have the best taste in HiyoIku music. I've been collecting songs to write this fic to for a while, and some of your recommendations have become my new favorites...)


	24. Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patience is rewarded, though the journey's far from over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aside from some disorientation, and some, uh...family drama?...I can't really think of any specific warnings to put on this chapter. But if you find something upsetting in this, I'm very sorry—and if you can, please let me know. 
> 
> (Also, _when did this chapter get to almost 10k?_ Oops. I was genuinely afraid this was going to be short. Shows what I know.)

Kisumi’s very hesitant to ask Ikuya what happened at first, but he really seems to want to know. Once he feels like he can bear it, Ikuya breaks the silence and explains.

He listens carefully, eyes on the road, and thankfully doesn't ask too many questions. By now Ikuya's explained things a few different times, so it isn't as hard as it was.

Still, the glance Kisumi shoots him when he's done hurts, more than a little. Had he sounded too dry? Was Kisumi confused?

"What?" he asks, trying not to sound too upset.

Kisumi shakes his head, eyes already back on the road. "Nothing," he says. "It's just...that's awful."

Ikuya nods, though he's not sure Kisumi can see it. "Yeah. It's..." He sighs. "I just...I don't know what's going to happen, but it seems like he's better than he was. That's something."

Kisumi blinks hard, and then smiles, though it's a little wobbly. "You're right," he says, "that's what's important. You're being really strong about this, Ikuya."

Ikuya shakes his head. "Not really."

Kisumi waits a beat before he answers. "Hm, maybe that came out wrong. I just meant, that puts a different spin on things, you know? It’s a good way to think about it."

Ikuya stares out the window. The lights smear across the cityscape with the movement of the car. It's like they're in a small, warm bubble, and the darkness of it, lit only by the lights on the dashboard, is very different from the faint chill and hollow brightness of the hospital room.

It feels very safe. And yet, there's a part of him that would rather be there than here.

"It seems like he's gonna make it," he says finally, voice soft. They've been talking around it, the life-and-death nature of all of this. "They haven't said much other than that, but...it's better than I thought it might be."

 _It's enough,_ he doesn't say. He doesn't know that, not yet. He doesn't know if Hiyori will wake up, or what state he'll be in when he does. But earlier today, he'd thought Hiyori might be _gone_. And he isn't, yet.

That simple fact is so important that he doesn't feel sad about the rest of it, not yet. He's been too busy being scared—trying to be strong, trying to be _ready_ —for sadness to have left much of a mark on him. 

Kisumi seems sad, though, and right now that's hitting Ikuya hard for some reason.

But then Kisumi looks over at him and smiles again, firmer this time. "You're right," he says. "So. Is my place okay? I'm guessing you haven't eaten, so we can stop by somewhere on the way in..."

Spending the night at Kisumi's is a different sleepover experience from staying with Haru. They end up grabbing fast food on the way back to Kisumi's place, and eating it once they get there. Kisumi turns on the TV as background noise as they eat, and then gets distracted by a drama neither of them's seen before. Ikuya doesn't have much patience with television, but snarking at the people on the screen and trying to guess the context they've missed is surprisingly fun. It's a distraction more than anything, but a pleasing distraction, and every laugh he gets out of Kisumi feels like scoring a point somehow.

By the time the episode ends, Ikuya finds that he's laughed a few times himself. Kisumi tactfully switches the TV off before the next show can start, and asks if Ikuya wants to play games, or sleep.

He's already done some schoolwork today, so there's no real reason not to relax, but at the same time he's not sure he has the energy to play much of anything. "I can watch for a while," he suggests. "But I want to get up early in the morning, too, so..."

"No all-nighters, gotcha." Kisumi pulls up a platformer and Ikuya cheers him on for a little while. He's pretty well-versed in the basics of what he's doing, but he'll quite cheerfully play through a few dozen attempts at a boss fight while getting curb-stomped every time. It's a weird response, especially because he seems even more amused by the way Ikuya gets annoyed on his behalf.

Ikuya is reminded, with a twinge, of coaching Hiyori through some of his own games. He tries not to let it get to him, but...that feels like it happened so long ago. So much has changed since then, and it's hard not to get sucked in by a need to find perspective on it all. 

He's distracted for real when Kisumi hands him the controller a minute later. "Here, take over for me."

"I don't know the controls—"

"Sure you do, how long have you been watching?"

Ikuya takes the controller while trying to glare at Kisumi, though he suspects it's more of a pout. Still, it doesn't take very long to find a menu that will explain the more obscure controls to him, and then he's bouncing his way through the level, trying not to die too many times before getting to the boss. Kisumi cheers him on for a bit, but he seems distracted, and eventually the gaps between his commentary get longer and longer.

A few glances to the side during lulls in the game show him that Kisumi's on his phone, and his expression is subtly starting to fall. He sneaks a look Ikuya's way and catches him staring, only to make a slightly apologetic face and shrug a bit.

He puts his phone down soon after and picks up his commentary again, but he lets Ikuya keep going until he beats the boss of the level. Ikuya passes the controller back to him after he's done cheering, and he takes it before pausing.

"It's getting late, actually. Do you want to turn in?"

"Sure." A little glad he didn't have to ask, Ikuya borrows his second pair of pajamas in two nights. Kisumi's are a better fit for him than Haru's had been, less loose in the shoulders, though he's not sure about the pastels. He's not about to complain, though, as Kisumi unfolds his couch and gets out spare blankets.

Lying on something softer than a futon is a relief after a long day, drawing out aches he hadn't even noticed. He feels himself drifting off fast after Kisumi says goodnight and turns off the lights, but not before he takes in the sight of Kisumi across the room in his bed, quietly back on his phone. Ikuya can't see his face or what he's doing from this angle, but it's oddly comforting to know that he's still awake, and he drops off almost before he realizes what's happening.

* * *

Ikuya doesn't go to swim practice the next day.

Instead, he goes back to the hospital in the morning, as soon as visiting hours start. He has everything he needs in his bag, and he spends most of the day working beside Hiyori, talking more quietly this time but keeping up as steady a commentary as he can.

He catches one of the nurses when she comes by on her rounds, and asks for any news. What he hears is good, but still vague—the treatments seem to be working, and surgery still doesn't seem necessary, but they aren't ready to wake him up just yet. In the mid-morning, they take him away for tests, leaving Ikuya alone in the room.

He sends a few messages out, especially to Hiyori's mother—his father's apparently on a plane—and a few to his friends, but it's nothing like the storm of messages the night before. He sends out a few more rounds when they bring Hiyori back, and explain that the swelling in his head is continuing to go down. They sound happy about it, which is even more of a relief than the news itself.

When Ikuya starts talking again, once they're alone, he finds it's hard to keep track of what he's saying aloud. He tries to stay on topic, for the most part, but his attention wanders. There are moments when he starts staring at Hiyori and can't stop, or when he needs a break and ends up staring out the window, desperate to stop the line of thought he’s on. But he still wants to fill those moments, and...

...And honestly, it’s really hard to stay positive. He wants to say things that will make Hiyori feel better, make him feel like things are going to be okay, and he doesn't really have a lot of experience talking like that. Between the two of them, Hiyori's much better at hopeful patter. Ikuya tries his best, and hopes he doesn't sound like too much like he's copying him. It seems like it helps to try to think of what Kisumi or even Asahi would say, too.

In the afternoon, he gets a message from Makoto offering to let him stay at his place that evening. He almost says no, but he really wants to bounce his plans for the coming week off someone and Makoto seems like a great option, so he agrees. Maybe it's thinking about him that changes his topic of conversation, or maybe it's that it's getting late and he's steeling himself to leave again, but when he speaks again, the words come out different.

"I...miss you," he finds himself saying, setting his book off to one side as he gives up on focusing on it. "I mean, I know you're right there, and like...we don't have to be together _all_ the time, but I want to talk to you for real. I want you to talk back to me." He feels a bitter smile twist around his mouth, but at least it's a smile, and Hiyori can't see him right now anyway. "I want to know what you think, too, not just what you think I want to hear. I mean, sometimes I just want to rant, that's fine—you get that way too sometimes, it's honestly really cute when you get excited enough to ramble—but other times you act like I'm going to get mad if you tell me your opinion. You have good ideas, you know. And if you've got a problem with something, then I want to hear about it.

"I still can't believe I didn't see this coming.” Even when Hiyori’s sleeping, Ikuya finds he can’t look him in the face as he says this. “I kinda think you didn't either, maybe no one could’ve, and that makes it better, but...I should've paid more attention. I should have told you to slow down and that you weren't okay." He's veering dangerously off-topic, and tries to change course. "It was sudden, I know. But like...the weirdest thing about this—there's a lot of weird things about it, actually, and one of them is that you keep focusing on _me._ Can you just let me be the one to worry for once? I won't break, I swear.”

Off-topic again. Why is it so hard to think about someone other than himself? 

"Anyway, the weirdest thing is that you thought I wouldn't care. Why would you think that? I keep coming back to it, and I don't get it. I...know I really suck at noticing things sometimes. You wouldn't want me to say I'm not smart, so I won't, but, like...I get very focused. Which means I don't always see the things I should. And I swear, I want to know when you're having a hard time. That's what being friends _means._ When I said I wanted to start over, that's what I meant. I wanted to do right by you this time. I guess I'm still learning how to do that. I think it's harder for me than I thought it would be.

"I don't want to give up, though. You...I was gonna ask if you know I care about you, but you can't answer right now." He blinks hard, tries hard not to let a broken edge creep into his voice. "So I just want you to know. I care about you, okay? I don't say it enough. You're really important to me, Hiyori. Not just because you help me out all the time, but because you're _you_. I want to get in the habit of saying that. I want to say it to your face when you're awake."

He feels a little flustered, and coughs, looking away. This is a little ridiculous—it's entirely possible Hiyori can't hear him—but even saying the words aloud feels somehow frightening, raw and exposed and difficult almost to the point of pain.

He doesn't want to be embarrassed about saying things like this when Hiyori wakes up. Or rather, a little would be fine—Hiyori would probably poke fun at it, even, in that gentle way he has which only gets Ikuya more flustered but doesn't actually upset him. So being a little embarrassed is fine, but he doesn't want to be awkward about telling Hiyori that he cares.

What better time than the present to practice?

He starts trying to think of compliments. After the first few, it's easy—and some of them edge into complaining or grumbling before he knows it, as he flinches back from following through or gets distracted by curiosity about things Hiyori's never said. But he refocuses each time, trying to think of other things that he can say. In the end, the sun is going down and there's a knock on the door before he's anywhere near finished.

He cuts himself off, hoping his blush has faded by now, and is politely informed that visiting hours are almost over. He gets his things together, feeling the blush flood his face again.

"I'll be back soon," he says, coming closer to the bed. Hiyori's face is still blank and empty, breaths rising and falling with mechanical precision, and he crushes the flicker of unease in his chest as he reaches out and squeezes Hiyori's shoulder. "Rest well. I..."

He stumbles on it a bit, trying to figure out what to say. "I don't know what I'd do without you," he says. "Stay safe."

It's even harder to turn and go than it was the day before.

* * *

Staying at Makoto's is a different experience again from what it had been with Kisumi and Haru. He insists that having Ikuya over isn't a problem at all, and listens patiently while Ikuya argues with himself over whether or not he should go to class the next day. He very tactfully doesn't say anything when Ikuya starts by saying that Hiyori would want him to go, and then spends several minutes complaining about it before finally getting around to his fear that Hiyori wouldn't understand why he should be visited. He stops, eventually, looking at Makoto pleadingly. 

Makoto looks a little like he's trying not to smile. "That's...difficult," he says, and then his smile falls. "I'm sure that it doesn't help that you can't talk to him about it yourself, right?" 

Ikuya nods. "Yeah. I also really don't know what's better to do. I want to keep up with the classes we have together, at least, but..." He shrugs. 

“I think it depends on how you feel about it,” Makoto says slowly. “I don't know whether you're okay with leaving Hiyori long enough to go to class, but..." 

"But you think I should.” Ikuya hates how fragile it makes him feel to ask. 

"I think you made a lot of good points in favor of it," Makoto says gently. 

Ikuya can't really argue with that, and decides to do his best to attend class, at least for the time being. 

He's not sure how much of the rest of his life he can start up again, at this point—not sure how much he can pretend that everything is normal, when it feels like normal is impossibly distant from what’s happening right now. But he doesn't have that many classes a day, and most of his days will allow him to spend a few hours at the hospital in the morning or afternoon. It makes his chest hurt to wonder how long this situation might last, so for now he just focuses on trying to keep his schedule sustainable, since he doesn’t know how long he might need to keep it going.

Makoto is a pleasant wall to bounce off his schedule planning, and it really helps. Ikuya has a habit of either over- or under-planning when it comes to his schedule; now, in the absence of Hiyori to keep him on track, he really can't afford the latter of those two options. It's scary, how much even that can make him feel like he's on his own, but Makoto helps.

They go to bed early, and Ikuya wakes up even earlier than he'd meant to, filled with a desire to swim. 

He wakes up Makoto, feeling bad about it, but is seen off with a sleepy smile, and manages to get back to campus only a little later than his habitual morning practice would usually start. He's on his way there when he sees Kotarou and Shin heading in the opposite direction. The moment they spot him in return, Kotarou waves him down and hurries over, looking surprised. 

"Ikuya! What are you doing here?" 

"I was going to practice," Ikuya begins. It sounds stupid, but he's not at his best at the moment. 

"I think we could've guessed that much," Shin says, coming up behind Kotarou at a slightly more sedate pace. "Do you want company?" 

Ikuya nods. "If it's not too much trouble. Is that why you were out here?" 

"I thought it might be worth it to see if you turned up," Kotarou admits awkwardly. "But when you weren't there, well..." 

"I wouldn't have minded if you went without me," Ikuya says, but Kotarou shakes his head, looking uncomfortable. 

"I don't know. It didn't feel right," he says, and then pauses. "How's Hiyori doing?" 

Ikuya can see the way he's bracing himself for the answer, and feels a sympathetic twist in his gut. He wouldn't want to be in Kotarou's position asking that, either. "Not great," he says. "There's no saying when he's going to wake up yet, much less when he'll be able to leave." 

"That sucks," Kotarou says finally, not seeming to know how else to respond. "The captain was checking with all of us, making sure we've got our immunizations. It's the kind there's a vaccine for?"

"Yeah, apparently.” 

Kotarou shifts a little. "So...did Hiyori not have his, or...?" 

"I don't know," Ikuya says. He hasn’t gotten a straight answer on that part yet. "His mom said he was up to date on all his immunizations, but the doctors didn't seem as sure. Or maybe it just didn't take right." 

"That can happen," Shin says, though he sounds uneasy. "I'm really sorry, Ikuya. This sucks." 

"It really does." Ikua says. "I...wasn't going to try to practice today, honestly, but I think I'll feel better once I do. I'm sorry I didn't come to practice yesterday. I should've messaged you." 

"Don't worry about it," Shin says instantly. 

Kotarou seems bothered, but Ikuya watches Shin throw him a not-so-subtle elbow. "Yeah," he says, jumping and speaking a little too loud, but his gaze is still clouded. "But, uh, look...I'm not just saying this because we're doing a relay or whatever, just...I know you have a lot to deal with right now, but well...we'd like to know what's happening? Like, when Hiyori wakes up, or how he's doing, or whatever."

"Yeah," Shin says, backing him up. "I mean...we get that we're not your top priority, but we do want to know how he's doing. And how you are, and if there's anything we can do to help. Whether that's practicing together, or something else. Just let us know." 

"Sure," Ikuya says, throat tight. "We're...probably going to have to talk about the team at some point, actually." 

He doesn't want to think about how all this is going to influence Hiyori's swimming, or how long it might be before he's cleared to practice again, but with Shin and Kotarou in front of him, the topic is hard to avoid. They, more than anyone else, probably deserve a straight answer where that's concerned, even if Ikuya’s scared of the answer.

"There's plenty of time to figure that out later," Shin says. "Don't worry about it." 

"Yeah, it's the off-season and everything," Kotarou agrees. "And Hoshikawa will probably have some ideas, too. For now, let's just practice, yeah? I can't believe you've gotten me getting up this early in the morning.” 

Ikuya grins, by now familiar with the complaint. "Sorry," he says. "Did you have a busy weekend? Any dates?"

Kotarou actually blushes at this, and Ikuya feels his smile grow wider. "I did, not that it's any of your business," he grumbles. 

"How'd it go?" 

From Shin's grin, he's heard a bit about this already. "It went well,” Kotarou says, "now can we go? I gave up sleep for this and it's already a late start, you dorks can grill me about my love life later." 

Ikuya agrees, and they practice. Diving into the water feels oddly like breaking the surface, a release of tension he hadn't realized he needed until he's doing it. His times aren't the best—he’s really only tracking out of habit—but they're good. He feels good. He feels like he can face the day, and maybe tell Hiyori about the new teasing material they have on Kotarou. 

The rest of the day goes pretty well, all things considered. Ikuya's determination to take good enough notes for two makes the classes go more quickly than they would otherwise he appreciates, because it helps with his impatience. 

A few buses and a train ride later, he stops at the front desk and is stopped through a check-in that he's started to think of as routine by the receptionist. The routine breaks, though, when she lets him know that Hiyori's father is in the room with him. This gives Ikuya pause. "I'm still allowed to go up, right?" he asks. 

"Of course," the receptionist says. 

"Okay...thanks." Ikuya leaves, but finds that he's a little bit nervous to head up to Hiyori's room. A tiny part of him even feels resentful; he'd been hoping to get to tell Hiyori about his day, and he isn't sure if Hiyori's father will be okay with his presence. 

When he comes in, he can hear the murmur of a voice, but comes in to find that it isn't directed at Hiyori; instead, Hiyori's father is on the phone, speaking in a low, soft voice. 

"...say there's every chance he'll make a full recovery. No word on the timeline yet, but I bet they'll keep him here a while, you know how Japanese hospitals are. Yes, yes, he's in good hands. I've already asked them about that, they said they'll go over it with me tomorrow. Mm-hm. Mm-hm. Yes, you told me that already, dear. I could tell you the same thing. No, I'm sure Hiyori understands. I'll talk it over with him when he wakes up. Don't you think he'd tell you not to worry?" 

Ikuya isn't quite willing to leave, so he pretends to ignore the conversation, and heads across the room to sit at Hiyori's bedside. Hiyori looks much the same as he had yesterday, though his hair might be a bit neater. Ikuya wonders whether that had been a nurse's doing, or perhaps Toono-san’s, but doesn't really feel inclined to ask. Hiyori's still intubated, and Ikuya wonders whether he’s imagining the way he seems to look a little more pale and gaunt than the day before. 

On the other side of the room, there's suddenly silence, and Ikuya peeks to see Toono-san watching him. He looks a bit withdrawn, and markedly tired, shadows deeper under his eyes than Ikuya remembers. Jet lag, maybe? 

"Ah, Kirishima-kun. You came to see how Hiyori was doing?" 

Ikuya nods. "Is there any news?" 

Hiyori's father nods, pulling up a second chair. "Yes. They're saying they might be able to take the tubes out and let him wake up soon. They haven't made any promises yet, but it's heading in that direction." 

Ikuya nods, though he’s taking in Toono-san’s manner as much as his news. It's delivered with a sort of joviality that he hadn't been expecting, but there’s a crispness to the way he speaks, too. Ikuya had always felt like Hiyori's parents were very...adult, somehow, and had figured that was mostly a product of him mostly seeing them only a handful of times when he was younger. But Hiyori’s father gives him that same impression now—a vague sense that he's out of his depth that leaves him feeling rather childish. "I see," he says. 

"Really, my wife and I can't thank you enough." The façade drops a little, as Toono-san steps forward and, to Ikuya's astonishment, bows. He stays there, looking at the ground. "We owe you our son's life. If you hadn't been there..." 

He trails off, and Ikuya struggles not to scratch at his face, feeling very awkward, not to mention caught off-guard. "I'm glad, too,” he says finally. "It was more luck than anything. I...I'd like to thank his mother for getting in touch with me, too. And to thank you both for letting me stay with him." 

"Of course," Toono-san says, and smiles. The warmth of it seems a little stiff, like the fits a little oddly on his face. "You're practically part of the family at this point." 

Ikuya tries not to stare at him, masking his surprise by bowing his head in recognition of the compliment. He's never really gotten a "familial" feeling from either of Hiyori's parents; he hasn't even discussed them very much with Hiyori before. Right now, it feels more like being welcomed by the manager of a part-time job than talking to his best friend's father. 

"It's an honor," he says, in line with that impression, and immediately wonders if he’s coming across as sarcastic; but when he straightens from his own shallow bow, Hiyori's father is beaming at him. 

Ikuya had never thought Hiyori's parents were _weird_ before. Distant, maybe, but not to this extent. "You must be exhausted," he says, finally, trying to move the conversation forward. "When did you get here?”

"About…” Toono-san checks his watch. "Oh, eight hours or so ago. I know that there’s a few visiting hours left, but...well, if I'm being honest, I'm about at my limit for today." He sighs a bit, but then brightens. "But they say they might take Hiyori off the anesthetic in the morning, so I’m hoping to be back for that. They already said they don't know how long it will take him to wake up, but I'd like to be here when he does." 

"I see." Ikuya's own heart leaps at the news. 

"Yes." Hiyori's father clears his throat, and Ikuya sees a hint of what seems like it might be the first hint of true emotion on Toono-san's face since he got off the phone; he seems uncomfortable. "There's the matter, of, um..."

"Yes?" Ikuya asks, standing straight and projecting his interest. It's too easy to see this guy as a nice boss, rather than someone he's supposed to be connecting with. He does feel bad for him, though.

Toono-san runs a hand through his hair, which Ikuya notices for the first time is graying at the temples, with silver trailing up the sides of his neat businessman's haircut. "There is the chance that when he wakes up, well..." He sighs. "There is no guarantee that he'll be...all there." 

Ikuya nods. "They've talked about that a little." 

Hiyori's father nods. "It took some pressure, but they finally admitted to me what that actually means. He might not have all his memories. He may not be as sharp as he used to be. And...I'm afraid it's possible there's a chance of physical damage, as well."

Ikuya nods, trying to keep his face smooth. "What sort of damage?" 

"Well...they said they couldn't be certain. Anything from generalized weakness to...partial paralysis. They haven’t seen too many signs of damage in the scans so far, but again, we won’t know for certain until he wakes up. And, ah...although there's a decent chance that most of the effects may be temporary, there's also a chance that some of them...won't." 

Ikuya nods, slowly. He wants to comfort Toono-san—he has the feeling that he should be trying, anyway—but he isn't sure how to go about it. It doesn't help that most of his anxiety seems to be focused on Ikuya himself, like he's afraid of being the bearer of bad news. 

"It’s just..." Toono-san sighs, straightening his jacket. "It's possible that his swimming will need to be put on hold. I know that you've both invested a great deal of time and effort into your careers; Hiyori's even talked about possibly aiming for the world stage at your side. But at the moment, well..." 

Ikuya feels an unpleasant swoop in the pit of his stomach. It hurts, hearing those words out loud, but on some level he’s known for a while that it would be only a matter of time until it happened. "I'm prepared for that possibility," he says, firmly. 

Hiyori's father blinks at that. "I...I see." He shakes his head, as though trying to clear it. "Thank you, Ikuya-kun." 

Ikuya nods. "Is..." He wallows. "Is it all right if I come by tomorrow? After class, that is. If he wakes up...I wouldn’t want to get in the way, but..." 

"You'd be welcome," Hiyori's father says firmly. He looks almost...relieved? Ikuya can't read his expression, but it seems sincere. "I'm sure Hiyori will want to see you. He always speaks so highly of you, you know." 

So apparently Hiyori talks about him to both of his parents. Somehow, Ikuya isn't surprised, but it's a little weird to think about. He kind of wishes he'd seen Hiyori with his parents more often, but really, looking back on it...Hiyori usually slept over at Ikuya’s, or, when he came to Hiyori's, his parents weren't usually home. 

Well, with luck he'll see Hiyori talking with his father soon enough. He just hopes that Hiyori will be close enough to his usual self that he can learn something from seeing them together. "He's kinder to me than I deserve,” Ikuya says, politely but also because it’s true. 

"Not at all," Toono-san says. "We haven't talked much, but I can tell that you're a very remarkable young man. Our Hiyori's always been a good judge of character." 

Ikuya considers this, and then is surprised when Toono-san claps him on the shoulder. "Anyway. Think you can hold down the fort here, Ikuya-kun? I think I'm going to need to head to the hotel if I'm going to be alert tomorrow." 

"Of course," Ikuya agrees automatically, and he stands, feeling too awkward to sit, as Toono-san gathers his things and prepares to leave. 

He thinks that maybe he should move out of the way so that Toono-san can have a word with his son, but he doesn't seem bothered in the least by Ikuya's presence. Instead, he bends over the foot of his bed and rests a hand lightly on Hyori's shin. "I'll be back soon, Hiyori," he says softly. “Keep recovering." 

He seems...warm enough. Kind. Almost a little more like a grandfather than a father, but...a good enough man, though Ikuya can’t really be sure of that part. 

As Toono-san leaves, Ikuya keeps thinking about it, silent for a little while longer. (He still means to talk to Hiyori, but would feel a little strange about doing it while Hiyori's father could still be in earshot.) 

He really, really doesn’t know much about Hiyori's parents. When Hiyori had talked about them as a child, it had usually been related to some rule, or their schedule. "My parents want me to," he'd say, or "My parents are pretty busy." That had covered a lot of situations, and Ikuya remembers Hiyori worrying about some sort of parent-teacher conference at one point, but other than that...

He hasn't talked to Hiyori about his own parents much either, of course, but part of the reason for that was that there usually wasn't much to tell. He usually has more to say about Natsuya than his parents; his relationship with them is pretty normal, as far as he can tell. They hadn't witnessed a lot of his rebellious phase—or it might be more accurate to say that they'd witnessed him being rebellious for long enough that by his older teenage years, nothing really phased them anymore. (Natsuya must have been a bit of a lesson in children's independence too, really.)

Still, Hiyori had always gotten along well with Ikuya's parents. They seem to think he’s a good influence, which...Ikuya couldn't really argue with, honestly. He'd never really considered the possibility Hiyori's parents might feel the same way about _him_.

"That was weird," he tells Hiyori quietly, settling down to sit next to him. "But I probably shouldn't talk about your parents when you can't say anything back, huh? So anyway, about classes today..." 

* * *

That night, he goes home to his own dorm, though he has an argument with Asahi over the phone about it. Apparently he'd wanted a turn to have a sleepover, and Ikuya sends him a few grumpy emojis and tells him he’ll have to wait. (He appreciates the thought, but Asahi isn't someone he'd just admit that to.) 

So he goes back to his own campus, but instead of going back to his room—his legs are restless and he feels twitchy—he goes into Hiyori's room. 

He hadn’t taken a good look at the place when he'd helped Hiyori leave for the clinic, but he sees now that it’s a bit of a mess, likely because Hiyori had been too out of it to do any real cleaning. Several days of going unoccupied hasn’t done it any favors, either, so buzzing with nervous energy, he starts tidying it up.

There's a few signs of illness, but not many, confirming Ikuya's suspicions that this had hit Hiyori fast. Still, there's some trash and dishes that need tidying before they get gross in Hiyori's absence, and it doesn't take more than a few minutes to straighten those things out for him. 

His sheets are rumpled with dried sweat when he goes to check, though, and there’s a faint smell of sweat and sickness to them that makes Ikuya wrinkle his nose. He knows where Hiyori keeps his spare sheets, so he opens his closet and takes them down, stripping the bed and putting them on. He bundles up the spare sheets to wash tomorrow...and then thinks better of it and goes down to the laundry with them right then. It's getting late, but he's not sure when he's going to be sure to have time to go through the whole process of washing them if he doesn’t do it tonight. 

By the time he takes the sheets down to the large washer-dryers downstairs and dashes back up to Hiyori's room, he's chilled through, rubbing at his arms. It’s gotten colder outside than he thought, and his decision to not put on his coat had turned out to be a poor one. It feels silly to wear it inside, though, even if Hiyori’s room is still a bit on the chilly side. He rubs at his arms as he steps into the room and, after a moment, decides to turn on the heater. 

He goes to shut the closet after that, mostly for an excuse to keep moving around until the heater starts to work, and his eyes fall on Hiyori's collection of sweaters—neatly lined up on hangers against one side of the closet, except for one warm, green-brown one that Ikuya thinks he might have worn more recently, which is half-folded on top of the hangers. 

Ikuya looks at it, considering. It's not neatly put away anyway, he reasons, and it wouldn't be the first time he’s borrowed Hiyori's clothing. Besides, it looks warm. 

He pulls the sweater over his head and shivers as the room-temperature fabric falls into place against his skin. It's an improvement even like that, though, and as Ikuya organizes the few parts of Hiyori's closet that are out of sorts, it starts to warm up against him. It's...nice to have a reminder of Hiyori pressed up against his skin, even if Hiyori himself can't be around right now. 

He's turned to the books on Hiyori's shelves—with a few different thoughts in mind besides just cleaning, keeping an eye out for library books and feeling a bit curious about what Hiyori’s been reading in general—by the time he notices the smell of Hiyori wrapped around him. 

Unlike the bed, this isn't unpleasant. It's subtle enough that he hadn't noticed it at first, had attributed the warmth he was feeling just to the softness of the fabric trapping the heat against his body. But...he lifts the collar slightly and sniffs at it, feeling ridiculous even as he does it. He wouldn't have said that Hiyori had a smell, but something about doing that brings a scent to his attention that, while he couldn't really describe it, makes him think undeniably of Hiyori. 

For some reason, it brings a different sort of heat to his face. He really isn’t used to noticing things like this. 

Doing his best to ignore the odd mood he’s in, he continues looking through Hiyori’s bookshelves, wondering what he might need. He makes a note of a few of the series he's been reading lately, grabs a few titles to return to the library before their due date (already prepared to apologize if Hiyori had wanted to keep them checked out), and finds himself smiling faintly to himself for no reason by the time the alarm he'd set on his phone goes off for the laundry. 

He brings the sheets back, still warm from the dryer, and folds them up before putting them away. It's late, and the residual warmth of them has him feeling sleepy, so he sits down on Hiyori's bed to survey his handiwork. The room looks more or less normal again—a little sparse, perhaps, but Hiyori usually kept it clean aside from scattered books, mugs, and the occasional discarded item of clothing. 

It's comforting, being back here. Comfortable, and less lonely. 

Ikuya considers going back to his own room, and finds that he doesn’t want to. He suspects it will feel cold and unwelcoming by comparison, and he's not sure how long this urge to sleep will last. Instead, he finds himself curling up in Hiyori's bed and getting under the covers. 

He wonders if it's okay to do this. Hiyori isn't there to give him permission, and it's a little strange, but...well, he can't exactly imagine Hiyori saying _no_ , so it's probably okay, right? He can always apologize later if he needs to, though...the thought of admitting what he’s doing to someone else, even Hiyori himself, is a little embarrassing somehow. 

Well, if he ends up needing to, he will, and otherwise he'll keep quiet. He wraps his arms around Hiyori's pillow—fresh pillowcase or not, the smell of Hiyori envelops him, though that might be from the sweater. Half-asleep already, he imagines that it's Hiyori instead, hugging it tighter, a little melancholy but oddly content.

He drifts off like that, and wakes to a silent morning with green-tinted light coming through the curtains. While he's a bit disoriented by it at first, he also feels more refreshed than he had either of the mornings before. 

* * *

That day seems to pass agonizingly slowly. He's already told Hoshikawa that he won't be coming to practice, but he has class in the morning and the afternoon and doesn't quite have the time to make it out to the hospital and back between them, either. It's frustrating enough to make him regret his decision to attend class, but he's not willing to give up on it now, either.

As it is, even with his resolve, it's difficult to commit fully to paying attention. He keeps trying his best, though, and wonders whether he'll feel any sort of buzzing in his pocket throughout the day. Nothing, though—he's muted the group chat so it doesn't give him a heart attack by buzzing unexpectedly, and that's the only place where anyone tries to reach him that day.

He's spent the day impatient and buzzing with nervous energy, such that when he finally gets to leave campus after class he's in a rush, too impatient to stop to grab food and so hyped up he feels almost numb. Has there been any news? What if it's bad? He's not sure which would be more disappointing, but he remembers the warning that Hiyori might not wake up right away even after being taken off medication.

He asks about it at the front desk when he goes to get his visitor's badge, unable to help himself. The receptionist looks familiar; she smiles a bit and doesn't hesitate to tell him that Hiyori is out of the coma, safely breathing on his own again, and has shown signs of improvement.

Ikuya thanks her, and while he's curious what "signs" might mean, he'd rather go up and see for himself.

When he arrives, Toono-san beams at him and stands up, setting a large, apparently leather-bound book to one side. "Kirishima-kun," he says. "Good afternoon. I wasn't sure you'd make it out today."

"I had class," Ikuya says, bowing mostly out of habit. "How is Hiyori doing?"

"Much better," Toono-san says. "He's even woken up a few times, or close to it. He's been...pretty disoriented, and he keeps asking the same questions over and over, but the doctors have assured me that's fairly normal."

It sounds kind of unsettling, but Ikuya doesn't say so. "I see. I'm glad."

"I should have called you," Toono-san says unexpectedly. "While I'm thinking about it, Kirishima-kun, may I have your number? My wife has it, I know, but I realize that I don't and I want to be able to keep in touch if there's a need."

Ikuya rattles it off, and watches, slightly perplexed, as Hiyori's father retrieves the book, flips to a specific page, and writes it down, asking about the kanji of Ikuya’s name as well. Is he...old, or just old-fashioned? Both of Ikuya's parents have their address books in their phones by now, but maybe it’s just one of Toono-san’s hobbies.

"Thank you," he says. "If there's any news in the future, I want to be able to fill you in."

"I'd appreciate that," Ikuya says, bowing a bit again.

They settle down fairly quietly after that. Whatever Hiyori's father was doing, he returns to it; Ikuya sneaks a couple of peeks and sees what appears to be a venerable leather day planner, one of the refillable ones. He's writing in the pages with a fountain pen and—occasionally—a pocket straightedge, flipping back and forth at a speed that makes it seem like he's very familiar with what he's doing. It's a little hypnotizing to watch, but Ikuya eventually pulls his gaze away and settles in on his own work.

It's very quiet like this. There's less beeping from the machines around Hiyori's bed than there had been, but in some ways that makes the sounds they make more noticeable, not less. Ikuya wishes he felt comfortable talking aloud, so that he can focus. He tries not to fidget as he works, but ends up staring mostly at Hiyori, with glances at his father whenever he shifts, in an effort to make sure he isn't being observed doing so. 

So it is that he notices immediately when Hiyori moves.

It's a little twitch at first, almost imperceptible—his head shifts slightly on the pillow, the sort of movement that wouldn't look out of place even in someone deeply asleep. Still, it has Ikuya sitting up straight, textbook almost falling out of his lap as he snaps to attention. He barely catches it on reflex as he watches Hiyori's brow furrow, his nose wrinkle. His mouth opens slightly as his breaths deepen.

He can't help himself. "Hiyori?" he asks softly.

Toono-san looks up immediately at that, gaze gone sharp as it darts between Ikuya's face and Hiyori's. Hiyori's eyes squeeze tightly shut again, and then—agonizingly slowly—start to slide open.

"—ya?" he murmurs, or that's what Ikuya thinks he hears. Hiyori swallows with visible difficulty, eyes squinched most of the way shut as he struggles to lift his head. 

Ikuya's not sure how the book in his lap makes it onto his chair instead of the floor, because the next thing he knows he's standing as close to Hiyori as he can reasonably get, trying to figure out where it's safe to touch him. He settles on Hiyori's shoulder again, covered in a loose hospital gown. "Hiyori," he says again. "Hey. How are you feeling?"

Hiyori seems a little lost at this, licking at his lips and taking a couple quick, shallow breaths.

A voice comes from the other side of the bed. "Are you thirsty?"

Hiyori's gaze snaps from Ikuya over to the other side of the bed, eyes widening. "Dad?"

"Yes, it's me." Hiyori's father is pouring water from a large bottle into a small cup with a straw already sticking out of it. "I'll have something to drink for you in a second, so don't drift off quite yet, all right?"

Hiyori's voice is thick when he speaks next. "What are you doing here?"

Toono-san chuckles, and Ikuya wonders if he imagines the resigned edge to it. "I came to see how you were doing," he says. "Don't worry about that right now. You're thirsty, right?"

Hiyori nods ever so slightly, then winces. "Yes," he rasps.

"That's what I thought." Carefully, Toono-san puts the cup in front of Hiyori's face and guides the cup into his mouth. Hiyori draws on it slowly, taking small sips as his eyes slide shut.

Ikuya wonders if he's about to drift off again, but then his eyes open as he opens his mouth again. "You're supposed to be in America," Hiyori says to his father, "but...from what I remember, Ikuya and I were in Japan. Is something wrong with my memory?"

It's a pretty big mental leap for Hiyori to make so soon after waking up, and Ikuya feels his chest swell with something dangerously like hope.

"Nothing much," Hiyori's father reassures him. "We've had this conversation a few times, but that’s all. You're still recovering from the anesthetic. Don't try to push yourself too hard."

"Oh." Hiyori blinks, like he's trying to process this. He turns his head slightly, looking at Ikuya. "You came to visit me?"

Ikuya nods. "I've been here every day," he says. "When they'd let me in."

Hiyori frowns a little bit at that. "Every...how long has it been?"

Ikuya has to stop and count, but his father doesn't have the same problem. "Almost five days," he tells him matter-of-factly. "You were admitted on Friday night, and now it's Tuesday." 

Hiyori glances at him briefly, but his gaze comes back to Ikuya. "What...happened?"

Ikuya frowns. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Hiyori stares for a long moment, and then shakes his head. "Telling you...to go to a doctor? I think? Or wanting to. I don't know if I did..."

"I did," Ikuya says. "They told me I'm fine. There's nothing to worry about."

"Oh." Hiyori's brow unfurrows a bit at that in obvious relief. "That's...good. I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize," Ikuya says.

"No," Hiyori says, a little more clearly. "I mean it. I'm sorry I made you worry.” He looks over to his father again. “Dad, you too. And I bet Mom is worried sick."

"You know her too well," Toono-san says, smiling ruefully. "She won't admit it yet, of course. And we need to apologize to you, as well." His voice goes grim for a moment, and then softens. "We can handle that later, though. You should know that she's coming, though. She'll just be a little longer."

"What?" Hiyori looks honestly alarmed at this, wriggling like he wants to sit up. Ikuya squeezes his shoulder, pressing down to try to keep him in place, and Hiyori looks distractedly down at his hand like he's just realized it's there. "She doesn't—I know she's busy, I'm fine—"

"Please, Hiyori." Unexpectedly, Toono-san sounds a little upset, and Ikuya realizes this might be the first time he's sounded that way. "I know you're almost grown-up now, but you're still our son. Of course we're going to worry."

"I'm okay," Hiyori mutters, gaze skittering away. "This isn't a big deal—I made a mistake, or maybe a lot of mistakes, but it was never supposed to get this out of hand. You shouldn't have to worry about me..."

Ikuya desperately wants to tell him to shut up, but the urge to not intrude on a family conversation is even more intense. He stays where he is, still and watching and trying to make himself as small and quiet as possible, as Hiyori's father leans down and puts his hand on the side of Hiyori's face. "Hiyori," he says, softly. "stop."

Hiyori flushes, dull and slow, and pulls away from his father's hand. He catches sight of Ikuya's hand on his shoulder, and Ikuya thinks his eyes have gone a bit overbright before he shuts them tightly. "Sorry," he whispers.

"I just told you not to apologize," Hiyori's father sighs, but he draws away, too. "I didn't mean to upset you. I'll let you catch up with your friend." He stands up, retrieving his phone from where it had been charging on a side shelf. "Your mother will want to know you're awake and coherent."

Ikuya privately thinks that the “coherent” part is a little debatable, but Hiyori hums his agreement, eyes still shut, and Hiyori's father makes a quiet, efficient retreat, leaving the room and shutting the door quietly behind him.

"Dammit," Hiyori whispers, almost mouths, and a tear traces its way down the side of his face.

Ikuya almost pulls back, surprised, but can't bring himself to move away. He's never seen Hiyori behave like this before, and honestly it scares him. He's talking, sure, but he seems so different from normal; is that the drugs, or a sign of something wrong? Hiyori's also flushed, and between that and the tears threatening to land on his pillow, Ikuya's hand moves on his own. He cups Hiyori's face on the other side, assessing and dabbing at the tears at the same time.

"You're still a bit feverish," he says, voice low.

Hiyori swallows, and sniffs, letting out a miserable chuckle. "That might explain some things," he says. It sounds almost like he's trying to be dry, but his voice breaks partway through, ruining it.

"Hey," Ikuya says, and bends over, trying to get closer. Hiyori's eyes are glassy, though whether that's from tears, fever, or...something else...is unclear. He meets Ikuya's gaze straight on, though. Ikuya wipes at the tears, aware that Hiyori probably can't do it himself right now, and pushes his sweaty bangs up and off his forehead while he's at it. "Shh. It's okay."

Hiyori takes a deeper, shuddering breath. "...I know," he says, but he sounds resigned. "Sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me."

Ikuya _almost_ laughs, but manages to bite his lip and stop himself at the last minute. "You just woke up from a coma, I think it's okay to cry a little."

Hiyori sniffs again, but it sounds amused this time. "There is that," he admits. "Ikuya...are you okay?"

Ikuya doesn't snap—couldn't really imagine getting angry at Hiyori right now—but he does sigh. "We made a promise. Remember?"

Hiyori looks confused at that, staring into the middle distance for a long moment. Then his expression clears. "Right. I'm not supposed to ask that right now, am I?"

"You can ask me again later," Ikuya deflects as gently as he can. "Anyway, right now I'm just glad you're awake. How are you feeling?"

"Like shit," Hiyori half-whispers, but he's smiling faintly, too.

"Will more water help?"

"Maybe."

Ikuya coaxes him into drinking a little more, and wipes the last few traces of tears from his face. "Better?"

"Yeah." Hiyori still looks flushed, eyes red, but he seems a little better, too. "Thanks. And, uh...thanks for coming to see me."

Ikuya wants to hug him. He wants to throw his arms around him and hold on until the tears he can feel building under his breastbone can break the surface. He wants to feel the reality of Hiyori alive and breathing and solid under his arms, but...it isn't quite safe to do that yet. And besides, more than doing any of that, he wants to comfort him.

So instead, he takes his wrist, a safe distance from the IV in his elbow and the pulse monitor on his finger, and gives it a gentle squeeze. "Of course I came," he says, hoping his voice is as warm as it is unsteady. "Of course."

Hiyori nods, even though he looks a little lost. "Yeah," he agrees.

Ikuya isn't sure what to say after that, and Hiyori doesn't seem eager to restart the conversation, either. Instead, as he watches, Hiyori's gaze begins to wander, and then his eyelids start to droop.

He considers saying something else, but Hiyori falls asleep on his own, face going slack and breathing going back to deep and even.

Less than a minute later, Hiyori's father comes back, pushing his phone into his pocket. He's quiet about it, shutting the door almost silently behind him and stepping gingerly over to peek at the bed before speaking. "I see he's out again."

"Yeah." Ikuya doesn't really know what to say to him, unsure if he'd been supposed to try to keep Hiyori awake?

"That's fine," Toono-san says lightly, still quiet. "That's how it was the last few times, too—he wasn't up for more than a few minutes. This is the best he's sounded, though."

Ikuya's heart drops a little as he remembers Hiyori's reaction to seeing his father. "You said he's forgotten about the times up till now?"

"That's right." But something in his expression must have given away his thoughts, because Toono-san goes on to add, "He really seemed better this time, though. He was much more talkative than the other times. That’s a good sign, if you ask me."

Ikuya nods. "That's good, at least."

It doesn't matter, really. He hopes that Hiyori remembers, because that would be a sign he’s recovering, but other than that...if Hiyori wakes up in a few hours, he'll be happy to have the same conversation over again. 

He kind of wonders if there’s any way he could make it go any better a second time around, too. Hiyori had seemed so _sad,_ talking to his father. Had that happened all the other times, too?

Ikuya stays as long as he can, hoping he'll get to see Hiyori wake up again, but he sleeps soundly through till visiting hours end, barely stirring. Toono-san gets ready to leave shortly before closing time, apparently not too bothered by this, and faced with his example Ikuya can't really bring himself to complain, either.

Still, it's hard to leave. He brushes Hiyori's arm again as he stands, just once, and pretends to himself that he sees Hiyori's mouth move in his sleep before he goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Pretty much this whole chapter is entirely new! (As in, I wrote it fresh instead of working off of an existing draft. This might also be why I badly underestimated its final length.) My schedule this week meant I touch-typed most of it on various trains. Unfortunately, this meant that my beta had to fix a truly heroic number of typos, even after I went through trying to catch them...most notably ones _in Hiyori's name_. I would not have figured that many different misspellings were even possible. Hooray for the patience of beta readers!
> 
> I hope you're all staying safe, and that this chapter brings you a bit of comfort if you're in a rough place. Keep hanging in there. <3


	25. Sea Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hiyori wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for references to childhood abuse and neglect. See the closing notes for details. Also, mild medical stuff (less than the last few chapters). 
> 
> Sorry that this chapter's a little on the late side—my scheduling got away from me. Huge thanks to my beta for stopping this chapter from being a wreck, not to mention keeping me more or less on task. It still might be a little rough, so anything that snuck through is on me.

Time passes in a blur. 

Hiyori couldn't have said how long it's been since he's known what's going on around him, at least not for sure. He's gotten brief glimpses and snapshots—has the general impression of a doctor's office, or probably a hospital, since he's not awake and that he's usually conscious at doctor's offices. He has an impression of voices and people in different outfits, mainly uniforms, and that confirms his hospital theory...

But he sees a lot of things—dreams that he's grateful he can only half-remember upon waking. He can't be sure what’s real and what isn’t. He dreams of pain spiking down his head and neck. He dreams about snippets of conversation that translate into horrifying nightmares, as his brain tries to work out what's happening to him and goes too far.

He dreams of Ikuya, which is strange and a whole other kind of terrifying. He really, really hopes that whatever's going on with Ikuya, he doesn't need to be in a hospital right now. The thought of what might have brought him there makes up some of his more lurid nightmares. 

(Some, not all. There are a lot of very strange dreams, and he's thankful that they pass mostly out of his memory almost as soon as they happen.) 

But then he opens his eyes (or thinks he does) and sees his father, and realizes that he really doesn't have any idea what's going on, because a hospital in Japan isn't where his father belongs. 

He tries to explain this to him, to convey his confusion, but he can't quite bring himself to say he can't be real to his face. Besides, he patiently explains to Hiyori that yes, he's really here, and explains why it makes sense.

It happens more than once. Hiyori can't really tell how many times, but each time he keeps hoping it will make more sense, and each time it doesn't. He's pretty sure he dreams up some of the conversations, too. 

Impressions filter through, though. A hand on his hair. A low pleasant humming—usually a sign his father's in a good mood. The scratch of pen on paper and the slow, deliberate flipping of pages, back and forth. The curved angle of a knee and a corner of a smile, though he might have dreamed those. 

A careworn voice on the phone, but that's the start to another nightmare, one he desperately wishes he could wake up from. 

Then, the next time he opens his eyes, he sees Ikuya's face, and it feels like the world starts to spin into motion again. 

Ikuya looks bad. Hiyori knows, intimately, what _bad_ looks like on him. It hasn’t been going on for long, because Ikuya still looks mostly healthy—physically, at least. But the shadows under his eyes start faster than the other physical sides, and those are making themselves known. His hair being a mess is also a pretty clear sign—the flyaway strands of hair and the way it puffs up at the corners show that he's been running his hands through it without thinking. They’re only early signs, but Hiyori’s familiar with those, as well as with the ones that will show up if this continues. Ikuya’s struggling. 

Seeing him like that...it feels like it wakes Hiyori up. Ikuya's a point of sense in what feels like timeless chaos, and that helps, too. But when he sees that Hiyori’s awake and surges up in his seat, shoulders squared to face the world like what happens when he's tense and terrified—that snaps Hiyori to attention. 

And then...he _smiles. _His hand on Hiyori's shoulder feels as warm as a sunrise, and Hiyori realizes, suddenly, that he is achingly cold. There's thin blankets over his legs, a thicker one at the foot that he thinks he might appreciate being pulled up, a thin hospital gown. Time slides onto its right tracks again, with the realization of the things he has to fix. Ikuya looking like that, is at the top of his list—especially if, as Hiyori is already starting to suspect, he's the one that put that look there—__

____

____

And then he hears a familiar throat clear, and looks over to see his father, which throws everything out of whack again. 

He can't really think of the last time his father watched him sleep. Woke him up on the weekends, sometimes, back when Hiyori had been in elementary and middle school, but Hiyori hadn't really needed waking, and half the time his parents were busy then anyway, leaving the house before he was up. Then again, some mornings Hiyori had been woken by pancakes or omelets, some smell in the house indicating that he at least wouldn't be spending the day on his own. 

His father has on one of the pancake smiles. He hands Hiyori some water, and Hiyori sips at it, numbly accepting how real it feels on his tongue. 

And then he doesn't feel numb at all anymore, as the list of things he has to worry about, things he might've broken, expands. 

He's not supposed to be like this. He's well past the age that his parents should have to leave work and come fuss over him like a _child _. An irresponsible child, at that. How did he let this happen? How had he let things get this bad? Did he just want their attention that badly? If that had been true, why hadn't he just called?__

____

__

He knows his mother is worried, even before his father confirms it. He's also afraid she'll be angry, and worse, that she'll know she has a right to be. His father's words don’t assuage that fear very much, and the sad way he smiles makes it even worse. 

His father, one of the most unflappable people Hiyori knows, is upset with him. 

He'll fix it. He has to. He's a good son, still, under everything; or he wants to be, has the potential to be. He can prove that. 

But first...he's too weak not to need at last a little bit of time to grieve the way that he's failed.

His father gives him space, to his relief. Hiyori is guiltily glad, especially when Ikuya stays, when Ikuya _comforts_ him. 

It occurs to Hiyori that this might be a dream—but no, Ikuya has done this before. Besides, he doesn't think he can imagine this look on Ikuya's face—not in this much detail—and the warmth in his voice is...new.

It's around then, with Ikuya's hands on his face, supporting him as he drinks, that it finally clicks that yes, this is really happening.

It's a lot to process, and before he knows it, he's slipping down into sleep again, losing against the weariness rising in waves to pull him under.

It isn't very long, this little, improbable slice of reality. Hiyori tries to surrender gracefully to the end of it. He's a little grateful he won't have to face his father again just yet. But he can't quite bring himself to be sorry he's there. He'll still be there next time, right? Hiyori can rest? Everyone must expect him to be resting.

So he lets himself sleep again. This time he takes Ikuya's smile with him, and his warmth, as armor against the bad dreams.

* * *

The next time he wakes, it's the middle of the night and he's alone. 

Maybe he should be afraid. He's got an IV in his arm, settled enough that he really only feels it when he moves too much, and something attached to his head, and it's a little bit cold except his fever's left him feeling sweaty and overheated this time around. But he isn't scared, or lonely. He actually appreciates having a little time to process. 

He stays awake for a little while, slowly trying to figure out what's happened to him. There's no rush, no one to see him. He feels like he's on a raft in the middle of the ocean, but it's a calm ocean, even if he can't see the stars. It's the first time he's felt this much peace in...a while, actually. 

Through the peace, images of smiles come to him out of the darkness. His father's—definitely not angry, no matter what else might have been going on. Ikuya's.

He's too tired to move, but kind of wishes he had his phone within reach. He has no idea where it is now, but they aren't the only two who would maybe smile at him, if they could. He misses his friends.

He falls asleep again halfway through composing messages, and wakes up naturally in the morning.

He's up before his father returns, and he catches the nurse who comes in to check on him, asking him for a rundown of what's been happening. He's coherent enough to understand the explanation fully this time, and it helps to settle him back into reality to hear the past few days broken down into a matter-of-fact medical description.

He points out a message from his father, left on his bedside table. It says that his mom's coming on a plane this afternoon and his father's going to bring her to see him for a few hours before she goes to sleep off the jet lag. His father's written down approximate times for all of it, and Hiyori tries to be grateful for the clear schedule, and not to be too intimidated by the knowledge that she's coming.

Getting to eat a little bit of real, solid food for the first time in a while helps even more. He's in a pretty good mood by the time there's a knock on the door—well before the time his father had laid out—and Ikuya peeks around the door.

"Hiyori," he says, looking surprised, and then a moment later he smiles wide. "Good morning. How are you feeling?"

It's an oddly bright smile for how much of a mess he looks. Maybe it's something about the light, a mix of weak late-morning winter sunshine and fluorescents, but he looks paler than usual, and Hiyori suspects that the true culprit is several nights without enough sleep. Either way, the way Ikuya looks really doesn't match that smile. 

"I'm...doing better," Hiyori says. "I think." Words are a bit rusty in his mouth, but he knows that he's telling the truth. "Sorry, I've been in and out. When was the last time we talked?"

Ikuya tells him, giving him a rundown of the last few days. Hiyori appreciates the timeline, and the way that Ikuya moves right on to explaining about how the classes he's missed are going to be handled, about how everyone knows who needs to know. 

Makoto, Kisumi, and the rest really seem to have been on top of things. Hiyori thinks of them with a little pang. "I should get in touch with them, too."

"It can wait," Ikuya says, still all confidence and warmth. "How about you? Any news?"

“Sort of,” Hiyori says, and explains what the nurse told him this morning. Ikuya listens carefully, though he suspects he’s heard a lot of it already. 

“They were going to do surgery, but then the meds finally started working,” he finishes, rubbing a hand self-consciously over his head. "All for the best, really. I know it doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things, but I kind of like having my hair."

Ikuya’s hands are fisted at his sides, Hiyori notices. "Y…yeah," Ikuya manages. "Yeah, that would've been…bad."

"Nothing a swim cap couldn't hide, but yeah." Hiyori stops, opens his mouth, pauses, shuts it. "Uh."

"The antibiotics took a little while to start working,” Hiyori continues, hoping that the explanation will help. “They were prepping me when they did another round of tests, and the swelling had started to go down on its own."

"It all sounds…kind of terrible," Ikuya murmurs. "Were you awake for most of it?"

"Sort of. They had me on a lot at that point, and I was pretty out of it to start with."

"Did it hurt?"

"…The meds helped," Hiyori says, firmly, but Ikuya’s face falls. 

"Oh, and,” he continues quickly, hoping to move on from the evasion. "I'm not taking back anything I said about going to the doctor, but the odds are pretty good that everyone else will be okay. There's a vaccine against the strain I picked up, that most people have. I missed a booster shot somewhere in all of our moving around, apparently.” He sighs, not faking it. It was frustrating to hear that, for more than one reason. "My family is usually so up on these sorts of things, it didn't even cross my mind as something to worry about."

"Ouch," Ikuya manages.

"Right?" Hiyori agrees. "My parents feel bad about it, even though it isn’t actually their fault. But it's still better than having to worry about the entire swim team being in danger of catching it, so there's that at least. They're probably still going to be encouraged to get boosters, though, and possibly antibiotics, too." He makes a face. "I hate how much of a bother this is for everyone."

"It's not that bad," Ikuya says. "And besides, like you said. It's not like you could help it."

Hiyori just shrugs, uncomfortable. On some level, it’s true, but it doesn’t _feel_ that way—he can’t quite get over the feeling that he’s done all this to himself, isn’t sure how to turn off the guilt that he feels about everything. 

"I…brought you something," Ikuya says out of nowhere, and holds up a bag that Hiyori hadn’t realized he was carrying, half-hidden behind his school bag.

"Oh," Hiyori says, genuinely surprised.

"It's, uh," Ikuya pauses to set the bag down on the chair and picks up its contents to let Hiyori see, "it's some books. I had to guess about what you'd want, but there's some from your room, and, well…" He’s starting to go a little pink now, of all things. "I went to the bookstore and tried to find some sequels, because you said you were between things…"

"Thank you," Hiyori says, delighted, and Ikuya blushes harder and pushes the books into Hiyori's lap.

Hiyori looks through the small pile one at a time, reading the back flaps and inserts. He’s so happy it’s hard to meet Ikuya’s eyes, even without the distraction. This is such a _nice_ thing to do, out of the blue and unprompted. It’s a sign Ikuya was thinking of him, even beyond the visits.

His chest feels so warm.

"Thank you," Hiyori says finally, looking up, and…for some reason, Ikuya just sort of stares at him, and then scoots a little closer, till he’s only halfway on his chair. There’s a smile on his face, though, so everything is fine, probably. 

Eventually, Hiyori stacks his books carefully on the bedside table, and then he smiles at Ikuya again, a little softer, shy. He doesn't know what to say, still too happy for words. 

Then Ikuya reaches out and nudges Hiyori's hand with his.

Hiyori looks down at his hand, and then up at Ikuya, confused. Ikuya’s smile drops a bit, but doesn’t go away, and if anything he blushes harder.

"Can I…?" Ikuya asks awkwardly.

Hiyori’s more than a little confused, but he nods. 

He takes Hiyori's hand and squeezes it, tight. "You're feeling better now, right?" he asks, and then clarifies, "Physically, I mean. I'm not breaking the promise."

"Yeah," Hiyori says. "Yeah, the antibiotics are doing their job. What did the health center say, by the way?"

"I tested negative, and they put me on antibiotics and told me to come back for a booster, just to be safe."

Hiyori nods, relieved. "Good."

Ikuya squeezes his hand again. Hiyori freezes for a second, but then squeezes back, gently.

The silence keeps pressing in, and Hiyori isn't sure whether it's a comforting thing, or a pressuring weight. It's like being trapped under a kakebuton, he decides; warm and cozy, but after a while it gets a little hard to breathe.

"My parents are coming this afternoon," Hiyori says, after a long pause. 

"Yeah?" he says.

"Yeah, my mom's plane finally got in." Hiyori sighs. "I did tell them I'd be fine, but it was too late—she’d already decided to come. I guess I can understand, but I wish I hadn't caused them the trouble."

"I think they'd be more troubled to stay away," Ikuya says firmly.

Hiyori sighs. "I guess that's true."

“They would be,” Ikuya insists. “It was...I don’t know how much you remember, but...it was scary. They were worried they wouldn’t...well.” 

Hiyori doesn’t like it, but he can imagine where that sentence might end. He’s kind of glad Ikuya doesn’t finish it. He occupies himself with stroking Ikuya’s hand lightly with a thumb. Ikuya sounds upset, but his grip is still firm, reassuring. 

"Were you scared?" Ikuya asks, trying to keep his voice light. "You know, while you were...awake, before."

"Ah," Hiyori says. "Well, a little? It was mostly okay—everyone was very serious, but very calm. I had the sense that they knew what they were doing."

"I wish I could've been there," Ikuya says. "I wish I'd been awake when you'd sent that message. I wish they'd let me come in the ambulance."

"I know," Hiyori says, and he squeezes Ikuya's hand again. "I was…not scared, exactly. Is that terrible? They might've put me on something that prevented that. But I remember thinking…if I couldn't speak to anybody again…" He peeks over at Ikuya, but he still seems pretty composed, given what they’re talking about, "If I couldn't talk to you again…that would be really sad."

The room falls silent again.

Hiyori’s still trying to figure out what to say when Ikuya speaks. "Can I hug you?"

Hiyori blinks. "Sure."

Ikuya doesn't hold anything back, though Hiyori can tell he’s being careful of the wires Hiyori’s still attached to. His skin is a little cool on Hiyori’s; he's a little stiff, and the angle is awkward. 

Even so, Hiyori settles against him happily. "You know," he says, "you give the best hugs."

Ikuya stills a bit, hands still pressed tight against Hiyori's back. "I do?"

"Yeah. You…it's like you throw your whole self into them," Hiyori murmurs. "They're sincere. They're very you."

"Oh." He squeezes Hiyori a bit harder, nowhere near letting go. "You're a pretty good hugger too, you know," he says finally.

"Thanks.”

Just when Hiyori’s expecting the hug to end, Ikuya rests his head on Hiyori's shoulder and pulls him in tighter, letting out a shaky sigh.

Hiyori's hands turn gentle as he cautiously rubs at Ikuya's back. "Ikuya? Are you…?"

His voice dies off, and doesn't start again. It's probably for the best; if he were to finish that question, Ikuya would probably rebuff him, like last time.

"I thought I might lose you," Ikuya says finally, and nestles his face deeper in Hiyori's shoulder. "Whenever I think about that, I just can't stand it."

Hiyori's hands drop a bit, to hug Ikuya tightly around the middle. He raises his mouth to Ikuya's ear. "You didn't," he promises. "I'm right here, Ikuya. I'll be right here for you as long as I can."

"Yeah," Ikuya says, taking a deep breath. "I know.” 

“...Thanks for being here for me.” 

“Always,” Ikuya says. 

It’s a silly promise, but something in it sets Hiyori’s heart at ease like nothing else could. 

* * *

His parents don't come together, like he'd been expecting.

Instead, he's reading one of Ikuya's gifts (grateful for the distraction and the excuse to stay awake) when his father pops in a little ahead of schedule, to say that he left his mother in a restaurant and ask if he wants any help "freshening up" in the meantime.

Though neither of them openly acknowledges what he's doing, Hiyori appreciates the buffer, as well as the help. He's been given the okay to leave his bed for brief periods, and shown how to handle the IV, but he'd been wary to try it without help.

It's scary how weak he is already, even after just a few days of sickness. Some of it is just not being used to moving around, some of it side effects of the medication leaving him a little disconnected from his limbs, and some of it is, honestly, probably either psychosomatic or left over from the exhaustion he's been courting for what feels like forever now.

Either way, though, he manages to get to a bathroom with his father's help. He splashes some water on his face and messes with his hair until it's at least neat and out of his face. He can't do anything about the shadows under his eyes or his paleness, but he can at least make sure it's cleanly washed.

On the way back, more tired than he would have expected from a few minutes of leaning on the counter, his dad supports more of his weight than Hiyori might have expected, even though he tries to stay centered and not lean on him too hard. He comments on it, trying to hide the fact that he's a little out of his breath, and his dad grins.

"Well, you know," Hiyori's father says, "it's an interesting thing. Gyms in the states are so cheap compared to Japan. There's one right on the way home from work, a few minutes' drive away from where we're living, and I signed up on a whim a few months ago." He flexes a bit, giving Hiyori a grin to show that he's joking. "Your old dad's going to be tougher than ever in a few more months, just wait and see."

That's great. He's never really considered his parents as being particularly health-conscious, and he realizes that it worries him, a little. He's got swimming keeping him somewhat aware of it, but even then, it's easy for him to lose track of how he's feeling. He knows how hard they work, and now that he's getting a taste of what it might feel like...

...He can't blame his mom at all. For any of it.

How many times has he let himself lose track of Ikuya, these past few weeks, as soon as he realized he would be okay? Even knowing, from past experience, that before it would have been a dangerous mistake? He always knew he wasn't at the top of his parents' list of priorities, not because he wasn't important but because he didn't _need_ to be. He'd never spent much time, though, wondering exactly what those other problems might have been.

He wonders whether he'll ever be grown-up enough for them to tell him. He's grown enough to start to guess.

When his mother comes in...she's smaller than he remembers. He knows that isn't right, that he hasn't grown physically since he's last seen her and that she certainly hasn't gotten any smaller. But he still thinks it, especially when she comes up and her father immediately stands, guides her to the seat closest to Hiyori, and puts an arm around her narrow shoulders as she sits down.

"Hiyori," she says quietly. She reaches out and then hesitates, like she's not sure where to put her hands.

Hiyori reaches out and takes her hand in both of his, careful to keep the pulse monitor out of the way. Her hands are small, too, but she squeezes his without any hesitation.

"Hi, mom," he says. "...Sorry about all this."

That seems to tighten something in her spine; she snorts. "Don't be ridiculous; this isn't your fault, Hiyori."

"It's..." Hiyori sighs, but it's fond. He may have to explain some things to her, eventually, at least some of it, but it doesn't have to be right now. "You're right," he says, and chuckles. "How was your flight?"

"Long and annoying," she says, leaning forward, "and don't think you can dodge the question that easily. How are _you_ doing? You don't complain enough to be a good patient, you know."

She frees one hand, running it over his cheek, dipping under his chin; Hiyori's gladder than ever that he washed his face. "You don't seem feverish...they're keeping an eye on things?"

"A very careful one," Hiyori's father supplies cheerfully. "I've been keeping a close eye on him, don't worry. And young Kirishima-kun has, too."

"That's good," she says, and then pauses. "Oh dear. That's right, I should probably talk to him sometime." Her expression is apologetic as she looks at the ground. "I'm afraid I might have scared him a little, with that phone call."

Hiyori feels his stomach drop—what's she talking about?—but Hiyori's father rubs a hand over her shoulders.

"You worry too much," he says softly. "You were doing the best you could, and all you do was tell him what you knew."

Now Hiyori _really_ wants to know...but now might not be the best time to ask. "Thanks for letting him come," he says. "I've liked having the company."

"Of course," his mother says, and snaps back to him. Suddenly, the intensity of her gaze has him shrinking back a little, hands twitching. He restrains the impulse, maybe a second too late, but thankfully she doesn't seem to notice. "Hiyori, we are _so sorry._ Me, especially. It shouldn't have taken so long for me to get here. You shouldn't have been left to deal with this on your own."

She's almost aggressive as she says this, sounding vaguely angry rather than repentant. Still, the anger isn't directed at him, so Hiyori swallows down his discomfort before it can fully form and tries to smile.

He really tries. It's hard, even though he's had a lot of practice. He's not actually sure how to answer her, which doesn't help at all.

"...I wasn't alone," he says, finally. "I was really lucky, actually. Mom, you're fine. I really appreciate you coming out here. You don't have anything to apologize for."

She pauses, then, and smiles, just a little. "Honey, I'm your mom. There's always _something_ I can apologize for." 

There's a pain in that smile that makes Hiyori _flinch_ for real, and not because it's new. "This isn't—"

"Actually," his father interrupts, voice deceptively mild. "About that." He squeezes his wife's shoulder and pulls her back a little, so they can all see each other. "This seems mostly to have been bad luck. Meningitis happens on college campuses sometimes. It came on fast, Hiyori didn't recognize the symptoms—thankfully Kirishima-kun was there—and he got treatment in time. All things considered, everything went pretty well."

Hiyori lets out a relieved sigh and nods, agreeing with him. It's a sensible, logical outline of what happened.

But then his dad clears his throat. "There is the matter of Hiyori's vaccination record."

Hiyori feels himself freeze.

"It was a mistake," Hiyori's father continues. "I'm not exactly sure whose, but he never got the required booster before moving. The records that were sent over were messy, and apparently no one noticed it missing. There's a few different times it can be administered, different courses that can happen. It was an easy mistake."

Hiyori nods along again, holding his breath.

"If we'd ever looked your forms over more carefully," he says quietly, "we might've caught it."

"That's a really small detail to catch," Hiyori protests immediately. He'd missed it, after all—and his parents hadn't done much more than help him go over the forms once he'd collected them all, before sending them (and Ikuya's, in another envelope) off to Shionezaki.

"That's true," his mom agrees, but she looks unhappy. "But you did the whole thing by yourself, didn't you? You've insisted on being...independent...for a long time."

Hiyori bites his lip. "That's not...a bad thing, though," he says quietly. "Right?"

Hiyori remembers sitting at the kitchen table at eight in the evening, dinner a long-abandoned concept, running his fingers through his hair enough times that his scalp is stinging, eyes throbbing with frustration. There had been so many forms, in Japanese and English, and they hadn't matched up exactly, and he was going to have to make so many phone calls to make, some of which he wasn't sure he was technically _allowed_ to make, but...

He’d handled it. Of course he had. If he'd made it a problem, his parents could have just said no—or, even if they meant to let him go, it was entirely possible they'd get stuck and miss a deadline. They were busy, and this was a selfish thing for Hiyori to ask...only it _wasn't_. Ikuya wanted to go back to Japan, and that meant Hiyori had to, too, but they wouldn't understand that.

It wasn't their _job_ to understand that. Ikuya wasn't their kid. Hiyori was, but that only went so far—he needed to go back to Japan for Ikuya, not himself, and they were under no obligation to find that important. It wasn't how grown-ups handled things, to give kids responsibilities like the one Hiyori held.

But that didn't mean he didn't hold it. Adults didn't know everything—he'd hidden too much from his parents before to believe that was true, and if Ikuya's parents had known the true danger, surely they wouldn't be letting their son continue to pursue his dream.

It was a rock and a hard place he'd been caught between, and he'd navigated it, gotten through it and gratefully forgotten the small anxiety storm it had generated among the general stress that a cross-country move with Ikuya had been. It's jarring, remembering it now.

"Sometimes I wonder," his mother says, though he gets the impression she's saying it more to herself than she is to him. "Though I'm glad you called us before the hospital did. It was bad enough of a shock as it is." She leans in again, tone gone sharp. "You know you can call us if you're sick, right? Or having any problem at all. You're still young, you don't know anything about the world yet—if something seems off and you're not sure what to do, you should ask an adult with experience. Your father and I should be able to do that much, at least, halfway around the world or not."

_Why didn't you talk to us?_

She doesn't say those words. So why are they what Hiyori hears?

For just an instant, he doesn't want her here. He wants her away, because he's going to cry, and that's going to upset her.

But then the impulse fades, and calm returns before the unexpected wave of emotion can capsize him. He isn't a child anymore—he has experience, he has control, he's gone through shit his younger self had never imagined, and he's not going to make this into a disaster. Not like that time.

(Does she remember the words the way he does, even after all this time? He hopes she doesn't. If she does, he's glad she didn't say them again.) 

"I'll try to remember that," he says. "I'm...not very good at asking for help."

To his relief, his mother snorts, suddenly sounding faintly disgusted rather than earnest. "Well, you come by _that_ honestly." She throws an elbow at his father.

He half-catches it with one hand, chuckling in surprise. "What a thing to hear from _you,_ dear," he throws back, apparently not cowed by her anger at all, and they devolve into criticizing each other's bad self-care habits.

They haven't been quite this obvious about this in Hiyori's presence in the past, and oddly, it's reassuring. They're admitting that they have flaws, albeit as a joke, but...it shows that he _has_ grown, in their eyes as well as in reality. They're one step closer to being adults, to being on even footing with each other.

Things pass a little more normally after that. His mother has a few more spells of intense worrying...though it tends to be criticizing anything and everything about Hiyori's situation, while his father comes up with more actual solutions between the two of them. Still, things don't get serious like that again until near the end of their visit.

Hiyori, in honesty, is not sure how much he's actually tired, and how much he's faking it. He's not happy to admit that to himself, but it's true. He's happy to see his parents again, of course he is, he's happy they're here and he's honestly ecstatic that he might be able to see them multiple times over at least the next couple of days, but...

...if he's not tired, then he needs a little space anyway, and acting worn out seems like the safest way to ask.

Still, his father notices—or he's the one to say something, anyway, though he kind of wonders if his mom had already noticed and had just wanted to stay around a little longer, from the way she looks disappointed when he finally says something.

"I could sleep," Hiyori admits, when he asks, and then gives his mother an apologetic look. "Sorry—I know you just got here, but..."

"You rest," she says sternly, and Hiyori hopes his hair isn't too gross as she runs a hand over the top of it, out of the way of the monitor. "I'm not going anywhere, for at least the next few days. We'll operate on your schedule, whatever that is."

"Yes, ma'am," Hiyori says, not without humor, and she gives him a small pinch in retribution, with a smile.

His father claps him on the shoulder before leaving, and Hiyori sits back, drinking in the silence.

He...kind of wants to call Ikuya and ask him to come visit, even though he feels bad about lying to his parents, not to mention bothering Ikuya for something he's not even sure he wants to tell him about.

He might do it anyway. In a little while.

He ends up not needing to. Ikuya texts him instead, asks if he can bring along another person.

Hiyori isn't actually sure that's allowed, but he gives him permission to try.

Ikuya tells him he's going to take a little longer than normal to get there, and oddly enough Hiyori's a little grateful for that, too. It gives him time to work out what was bothering him.

It doesn't take long. He pretty much already knows. 

* * *

They hadn't been in America long when the incident he remembered had happened. He hadn't even met Ikuya yet. He doesn't remember the conversation that had set it off, he just knew that it had been his fault. He'd said something he shouldn't have to one of the teachers at his school, and they'd said something to his parents.

Worried that he was neglected, being on his own for so long at home.

Hiyori's mother hadn't been happy. He hadn't seen the conference itself, but she'd come home that night—late, smelling of alcohol—ranting about the teachers and her coworkers and the world in general. It was scary. Not because he thought she was angry at him...but she _had_ been angry, and it was his fault, so it wouldn't have been surprising if she had been. Hiyori's father had been in full damage-repair mode, promising that it was all right, they'd talked it over, there were extracurriculars Hiyori could join to make sure he wasn't alone after school, Hiyori's father would change his schedule or they could hire some help, if it came to that.

It wasn't like they were _always_ gone, though. Half those solutions wouldn't work, or would cost a lot of money. He liked the idea of extracurriculars, though, he'd thought desperately. Maybe he could take more swimming lessons, or join a team?

His mom had snapped _directly_ at him only once, and even then she’d kept her distance. Her words had been enough to land hard, though, to leave a mark on him.

_"If you didn't like it, why didn't you tell us?"_

That had been _so_ unfair that Hiyori had almost answered. Almost. But if she didn't already know the answer to that question, he was pretty sure there's no way she'd understand.

They hadn't listened when he told them before, after all. When he'd thrown a tantrum about being left on his own, before he'd learned not to; when he'd felt sick and they'd sent him to school anyway; when he'd tried three times to call his dad another time, when he'd been home with a fever, only to call his mom and had her answer in a rush, apologizing for him the whole time...

...Looking back on it now, they'd been trying. They really had. He'd thought as much when he was younger, too. But he'd also always thought that none of his problems were big enough to bother him. They only scared him because he was a baby—and he'd lost his faith in his ability to judge any problem at all.

A few years later, when he'd met Ikuya, he hadn't tried to explain. If the people at the hospital and Ikuya's own parents hadn't seen the danger—if Natsuya had been the only one to acknowledge it, and had given the task of keeping Ikuya safe to _Hiyori_ —then there was no way his parents would have understood, either.

Later on, when he'd run into some problems of his own, he'd retraced his steps halfway to school, stopped in at the drugstore with hands still shaking and bought the only makeup he's ever owned with the allowance he'd been saving up for books. He'd made up a story about skateboarding in broken English to the middle-aged woman behind the counter, and hidden the bruises, and finally, carefully, returned home. There’d been no one to notice that he was late, because of course there hadn’t. He’d practiced covering the bruises and concocted an elaborate lie to get out of his plans with Ikuya that weekend. 

If his parents had noticed anything about that awful week, they'd never given him any sign. Back then, that had been exactly what he'd wanted. But thinking of it now, it had just been one in a series of lessons that his problems were not important enough to bother anyone else with, but were serious—or perhaps inconvenient?—enough to hide.

He's not sure he wants to tell his parents about that day, though...it's been on his mind more, lately. Ikuya's out as a conversation partner, too, for obvious reasons.

But maybe...Sam would probably get it.

Could he put that on him?

He's still mulling this over, half-hearted and genuinely starting to get tired, when there's a sharp knock on his door, and Ikuya comes in. He's got an odd look on his face—a small pout, grouchy but not serious—and it makes sense when another person comes in behind him, fussing at him in a tone that is immediately familiar.

That doesn't mean he believes it when he hears it, though. " _Natsuya-kun?_ "

"In the flesh, kiddo." Natsuya takes a few more steps in and gets Ikuya in a messy headlock. "You didn't tell him I was coming?"

"Get _off_ ," Ikuya says, but without enough venom to be serious.

Hiyori watches them play-wrestle, caught between shock and amusement. What is Natsuya _doing_ here?

"Hey," he says, apparently unbothered by the dumbfounded way Hiyori's staring at him. "Long time no see."

"Not that long," Hiyori counters.

"Coulda fooled me." Natsuya grunts as he wrestles Ikuya off him and makes a break for the closer chair, plopping down into it with a satisfied sigh. "How're things?"

"Uh—"

"Okay, wait, stupid question, hang on." Natsuya spreads his hands. "Ikuya already explained the basics, I don't need the full report or anything. Just...how's today been? Better or worse than yesterday?"

Hiyori thinks about it. For too long, probably—Ikuya doesn't seem to like how long it's taking him to answer.

"...Better," he decides, fully aware that he took some time to decide. Natsuya's starting to get the same look on his face that Ikuya is. Disbelief, probably? Maybe concern.

"My mom showed up," he says, by way of explanation. "Like—don't get me wrong, I'm happy about it, too. It was just...a lot."

Natsuya nods. "Gotcha."

That brings the energy down, which...wasn't exactly what Hiyori had intended. But...maybe, he thinks, as Natsuya starts to talk about what he's been up to these past few months and he and Ikuya bicker amicably, it's what he needs. He's not quite tired enough to need to sleep yet, but he's tired enough that it's hard to add much to the conversation.

Instead, he just bathes in their company. Arguing or not, this might be some of the most relaxed he's seen the dynamics between Ikuya and his brother in years. It's pleasant to be with them as they chat, Ikuya nitpicking at Natsuya's lifestyle choices and Natsuya defending his...admittedly pretty unique training regimen.

Natsuya finally gets him back when the topic turns to sleep. "Oh, like you've been getting a full eight hours," he says, glaring playfully between them. " _Either_ of you. I see those bags under your eyes, little brother, and as for _you,_ Hiyori—"

Hiyori laughs, not least because Natsuya's absolutely right and he has no room to argue the point, but Ikuya is nettled.

"I've been _trying,_ " he says. "It's just..."

And then his gaze darts to Hiyori, and the laugh turns bitter in Hiyori's mouth.

"...Okay, fine," Natsuya says, relenting. "It's hard when you're worrying about someone. I get that. I was thinking more _before_ that."

"I was doing okay before," Ikuya grumbles, and—though he knows the comment isn't aimed at him at all—Hiyori feels another stab of guilt.

"He really was," he says, trying to shrug it off and coming to Ikuya's defense.

"Hmph. You sure he wasn't staying up and hiding it? He used to pull that all the time when we were kids."

"Pretty sure," Hiyori says lightly. "Right, Ikuya?"

Ikuya's gaze darts away briefly, but it doesn't look like he's lying, just like he knows he's getting teased. "Right," he says stubbornly.

"See?" Hiyori says. "He's really quite responsible these days."

"Good," Natsuya says. "You better not give Hiyori anything to worry about for at least the next six months, got it? Consider it a challenge."

"That's not—" Hiyori begins, at the same moment that Ikuya starts to protest, "Don't—"

They both cut themselves off, staring at each other, and Natsuya chuckles. "Look, I'm _aware_ it's a stretch, I'm just saying."

Ikuya sticks his tongue out at him.

"Oh, speaking of which," Natsuya says breezily, "Nao wants to come along next time, if that's okay. Once you're okay enough to have bigger groups, that is—it was a bit of a stretch even getting me in here."

Hiyori blinks, briefly trying to figure out how that's related before giving up. "Oh. That's nice of him."

"Yeah." Natsuya shrugs. "Well, I asked. He knows about sports medicine, after all. He's still studying, but I figure he might know some people to ask to get you back on the right track. When you're ready, of course."

"...Oh." Hiyori looks instinctively to Ikuya, because he can't not. Neither of them has touched this topic yet, and as Natsuya looks between them, he seems to realize this.

"I'm not saying you should jump in immediately," he continues, looking increasingly uncomfortable, "I'm saying the opposite of that. You get that, right?"

"Yeah," Hiyori agrees.

"Good." Natsuya ruffles what he can reach of Hiyori's hair. "Because you're still young, got it? The worst thing you could do at this point is jump right back in and overexert yourself. Take a lesson from my dumb little brother and _don't_ do that."

"Hey," Ikuya protests, and Natsuya turns to point at him.

"And _you,_ " he says, "had better learn from Hiyori's good example, that he will definitely give you. Are we clear?"

Hiyori chokes on that one a bit, but...well, after the directives he's accepted from Natsuya before, he can't really argue that this is the unreasonable one. Ikuya seems to think the same, as they stare at each other over Natsuya's arm.

"...Fine," Ikuya grumbles, and Natsuya beams.

"Great!" he says. "Glad we could work that out. So, can you eat cake? I hope you can, because I brought cake, it's in Ikuya's bag."

Hiyori can, in fact, eat a little bit of cake. They chat about nothing at all and Natsuya tells wild stories about the places he's been that Ikuya starts trying to debunk through looking things up on his phone. Hiyori laughs and rides the atmosphere. When Natsuya and Ikuya leave a few hours later, he's buzzing with more than sugar, drained but happier than he's felt in what seems like a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Expanded warnings/summary:** References to an episode of physical bullying in Hiyori's childhood, as well as ongoing neglect (being left at home to fend for himself) and being blamed for reporting it to other adults. His treatment by his parents is treated as a gray area, so not graphically terrible, but a framing like that can be upsetting in and of itself.
> 
> * * *
> 
> There are a lot of things I could say about Hiyori's parents this chapter, but I'm not sure exactly how they come across just yet. I might make a post later or something. Long story short: yes they messed up, yes they have good intentions, no I'm not sure how much that _should_ matter but I _am_ pretty sure that neither Hiyori nor his parents have figured that out either. He's not exactly the type to acknowledge when he's been mistreated, after all. 
> 
> I do want to note that American culture and Japanese culture handle latchkey kids and childhood independence in general _very_ differently. It's considered normal for kids as young as kindergarten to ride the train alone to and from school, and children are regularly sent out on errands by themselves. I suspect that Hiyori's backstory is meant to be relatable as well as sad, and not necessarily meant to send up warning flags. 
> 
> Anyway...my delightful beta told me this chapter was a bit of a rollercoaster, but being back in Hiyori's head meant that would've been hard to avoid. I hope you enjoyed it regardless!


	26. Waves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No major warnings this chapter, though there's some discussion of peril to major characters (i.e. stuff in canon and in previous chapters). 
> 
> Huge thanks to my beta for keeping me more or less on-target, and especially for helping me with all the research questions I'm too lazy to track down myself. Someone who knows the canon thoroughly is really helpful. Any remaining mistakes, as always, are entirely my own.

It's odd how peaceful things seem for a while after that. Hiyori is limited to only one or two visitors at a time, for the moment, so he pencils people in when they ask and promises that he'll let everyone know when he's well enough to see bigger groups in the visitors' area.

His parents visit once or twice a day, working mostly around Ikuya's schedule. Hiyori finds that he mostly isn't alone during the visiting hours. He has time to himself in the mornings and evenings, of course, but he spends a lot of that time sleeping.

If he'd imagined a scenario like this ahead of time, he would have thought it would be exhausting—and indeed, he sleeps long and heavy the first few days, still fighting a fever and exhausted by more concentrated sitting and talking than he's had in years. But he adjusts to it quickly, and the fever loses to the medication, and he finds that he appreciates the company.

It's not always loud. His mother and father don't bring their work with them unless they're planning to be there for a very long time, but when it's one of Ikuya's busier days, they keep him company while he studies. He's a little nervous about it at first, but his father starts joking and complaining about office politics, or shows Hiyori things that he reads during his breaks. His mother looks a little irritated by these small interruptions at first, but willingly allows herself to be distracted.

Following his example, Hiyori slowly starts opening up about what he's studying, and his parents seem...actually interested. His mother asks about the books that Ikuya gave him, and while explaining that part is a little embarrassing, she seems genuinely curious about his tastes.

They haven't changed very much since middle school, which Hiyori finds vaguely embarrassing. He still loves fantasy, still loves older-fashioned books that tiptoe between literary and speculative fiction. He doesn't think it's anything either of his parents had read much of that sort of thing; his father has a thing for self-help books, which he reads, pokes fun at, and then discards, and his mother had switched to an e-reader early.

He tries asking her what she reads in her free time, and she cracks a joke about "What free time?" and then reluctantly adds something about thrillers. Hiyori's father winks at him, and says something about letting her keep her secrets. Hiyori's genuinely intrigued, and decides that he'll try asking again in a few years.

He's never been with them quite like this before. At first, he thinks they're humoring him, that they must be bored and he must be a hindrance, but...well, he spent a long time trying to understand their moods, know how they were doing and whether he was doing a good job of showing that he was fine. He's been trying since before he had any chance of being good at it, and...something's changed since high school, the last time he lived with them. He can more or less do it now.

They seem...at ease, especially after the first few days, when they've adjusted to this new routine. They seem _comfortable._

There's still weird little moments, when they're not sure what to say to each other. Hiyori's mother gets genuinely annoyed at something when she's working, or comes in looking irritated, or a nurse comes in and she clams up, caught between concern and a desire to stay out of the way, unobserved. Hiyori's father will laugh too loud, seem too chipper, or try to strike up a conversation when nobody else feels like talking. And Hiyori...some part of him is still raw, confused, and uncertain that any of this is okay. He's still half-expecting another shoe to drop, to be told off for wasting everyone's time.

Hiyori finds himself trying to stay as unnoticeable as possible in these moments, but...he notices that he isn't the only one that does it.

None of them are talking to each other, not yet, but he sees the way his mother's eyes dart around, the weary look she gets on her face when she doesn't like what's going on and thinks she's unobserved. His father, on the other hand, will put on a bland almost-smile and face the world without flinching, but the pauses before he speaks become longer, like he's carefully thinking about every response, calculating every action. And they both bury themselves in their work when things happen that they don't like.

He's not exactly like them, but there's something...illuminating in looking at them now.

It takes him a while to realize what it is. It's that he's almost an adult, now. He can see them more clearly than he could as a child, and they seem relieved to see him as almost an equal—someone they can respect instead of raise. They seem more comfortable with him this way, now that he's older and can almost stand on his own. Now that he isn't just pretending to be something he's not, and is—finally—growing into something that he _is._

Realizing that they see him that way gives him a mix of feelings. He feels sad for the child that he'd been, but proud of the person his parents seem to think he's becoming. He feels like he's a bit of a stranger to them, but a welcome stranger. They're kind of strangers to him, too, but maybe the important thing is that they're _pleasant_ strangers—people that he wants to get to know better.

It's a little lonely, but that's okay, because the feeling of loneliness goes away whenever Ikuya's with him. And they don't frighten him, or worry him, where Ikuya still does sometimes. It feels...balanced.

This new trend he has going, of having a variety of people in his life, is nice. He could really get used to it.

* * *

Hiyori’s parents and Ikuya aren't the only ones to visit. Natsuya comes several days, too, though he's apparently crashing with Nao and comes by about half as often as Ikuya does. And a few days after his mother first arrives, Ikuya comes by to pass along a request by Hoshikawa to stop by.

A little surprised, Hiyori agrees without thinking. He comes by the next day, while Hiyori and Ikuya are studying.

He's a little awkward, not quite as confident as Hiyori's used to seeing him, just a little stiff as if he's uncomfortable. He greets Hiyori and Ikuya, reports about the team's check-ups (everyone's fine, but they're being careful), and promises Hiyori that he _won't_ let the whole team come to visit at once, even when he's cleared to have larger groups of visitors.

Then he shuffles his feet a bit and levels a look at Ikuya. “Mind giving us a moment, Kirishima?”

“Sure.” Ikuya stands when he says this, but he doesn't leave right away, looking hesitant as he glances between the two of them. 

Hoshikawa gives him a more pointed look, and then, when he still lingers, turns the look on Hiyori. 

Hiyori puts on his best placating smile. "What's this about?" he asks. 

Hoshikawa crosses his arms, leaning back. "What we talked about before," he says mildly. 

Hiyori nods, understanding. "Okay. Ikuya, do you mind, or…?" 

Instantly, Ikuya nods. "If that’s what you want," he says, and ducks out of the room, closing the door behind him. 

His apparent neutrality doesn’t really help Hiyori’s uncertainty about whatever's coming, but he puts it aside as a problem for another time. "What is it?" he asks Hoshikawa. 

Hoshikawa gets up and comes to stand near the foot of Hiyori's bed. "I need to apologize to you," he says, and waits. 

Hiyori fidgets a little under his serious gaze. "I...um...I'm not sure what you have to apologize for?" he says, confused. 

Hoshikawa nods, unsurprised, but he doesn't look happy. "When you came to me to quit the team, I dismissed you out of hand. I decided what sort of encouragement you needed without asking more about your situation. My short-sightedness helped to put you in serious danger." And then, to Hiyori's bewilderment, he _bows_ , hands at his sides and head down. "I'm sorry," he says. 

"You..." Hiyori bites his lip, feeling something complicated rise up in his chest. As he struggles with what to say, Hoshikawa straightens again, but he doesn't move away, seemingly content to wait for Hiyori to find a response. "I didn't know what I needed either," Hiyori says, finally. "And...I don't think what you said to me was wrong."

"It was short-sighted," Hoshikawa says. "You're more than just a member of the swim team, Toono. You had your own circumstances, and I failed to ask about those." He pauses. "I don't know if this occurred to you, but have you considered the idea that some part of you knew you were burning yourself out?" 

Hiyori blinks at him, and then looks down his blanketed legs. "I suppose...there could be some truth to that," he admits. "I would never have put it in those terms, though." 

Hoshikawa nods seriously. "I know that. It's a difficult thing to spot from the inside—and the outside, too, sometimes. People like Kirishima make it obvious, but not everyone's like them. There are subtler signs." 

"That's...true." Hiyori's mind is still spinning. There isn't anything that is new about this conversation except for the fact that he's having it with the captain, but something about the fact that it's _him,_ and not Ikuya or Sam or even his parents…

Unbidden and unwelcome, another memory flashes into his mind. 

_”You’re gonna quit anyway, aren’t you?”_

Somehow, even though it's Kinjo that said it, it strikes a chord in Hiyori now, and some things rearrange themselves. 

"It's not that I didn't know what was happening," he admits, finally. "I knew there were...things I was dealing with. But I was actively trying to hide that." He looks up at Hoshikawa again, more sure of his ground now. "My actions weren't your fault, Captain. You responded as best you could with what I gave you. I'm pretty sure your obligations don't include being a mind-reader." 

Hoshikawa loosens up a little at that, mouth crooking in a slight smile. "Well," he says, "I'm not saying you don't have a point. But..." 

He sits down. "I still wish this hadn't happened," he says plainly. "It's hard not to see, in hindsight, how I might have prevented it. If I could go back and change what I told you, I would." 

Hiyori nods. "I...appreciate your concern." 

"Then," Hoshikawa says, leaning forward, "I want you to promise that you'll take a good long time to recover before you come back. Understood? If that's never, I'll support that decision, but if you do want to come back, we'll have a place for you whenever you're ready. Which had better not be until next year, by the way, unless you take it _real_ easy." 

It takes a moment to realize what Hoshikawa's saying, and another moment for the meaning of the words to hit home. "I..." He stops. "I always assumed I'd be back as soon as possible," he says carefully. "I might not be in competing shape right away, but the sooner I get started..." 

"I understand what you're saying. But I don't want to make the same mistake twice with you, Toono." Hoshikawa shakes his head. "I _know_ you love swimming—I see that in you. But that's not everything. You made the choices you did for your own reasons, and those choices led you to this point. You can't control what happened to you, and you can't change the past, but...has this made anything clearer, for you? Or are you still lost about what matters?" 

_What matters?_ "I don't...know what you mean," Hiyori says. 

"Honestly, I'm not sure I do either," Hoshikawa says, and Hiyori tries not to choke too visibly on surprise. "Look, I'm trying to sound cool here and everything, but my point is this: I'm wondering if you're still hung up on something. Or maybe more than one thing. I could be wrong, because I don't know you that well—I'm just your captain, and that's kind of my job. It's just a feeling I get, but if you think it might be right...take your time, is what I'm saying. Your team members aren't going to judge you for that, and neither am I." 

Hiyori thinks it over, and Hoshikawa waits, looking almost nervous.

He feels himself smile. "I can do that," he says.

* * *

Ikuya takes a while to come back, and when he does, he seems uncomfortable. Hiyori waits for him to ask about Hoshikawa's visit, rather than bringing it up himself. 

When Ikuya does ask, Hiyori tries to break the news gently, explain the reasoning behind it and that it'd been Hoshikawa's idea in the first place. "And you guys are going to need a replacement," he adds, regretful. "Hoshikawa said he'd step up if no one else came to mind, but you're probably going to want to make that decision as a group, right?" 

"Yeah," Ikuya says. "Hoshikawa's not a bad choice, though, if he's willing to do it." 

"Sounds like he is." Hiyori smiles. "That'll be a great team. You'll be able to do something with that even if I can't get back in shape for the spring season." 

"Yeah, I guess." Ikuya still doesn't look happy. 

"I..." Hiyori pauses, and smooths down the blanket over his knees. "I'm sorry, you know. I want to swim with you, really I do, but lately it seems like I've been doing everything I possibly can to—” 

"It's fine," Ikuya says, but Hiyori looks over at him and knows that no, it isn't fine, because Ikuya's smile is _sad,_ but sad like he's trying not to admit it. It doesn't reach his eyes. " _I'm_ fine, Hiyori. I know this isn't what you wanted. You don't have to convince me of that." 

"Good," Hiyori says. He takes a breath and adds, careful. "I...I really like swimming with you. You know that, right? I always have." 

Ikuya ducks his head, but nods. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, I know. But...thanks for saying it." 

"I'll say it whenever you want me to," Hiyori says immediately, and it's a kind of silly thing to say but it's worth it when he sees a hint of a grin on Ikuya's face, there and then gone.

It's replaced by a complicated look, and then Ikuya says, suddenly, "I was the one who asked Hoshikawa to come by."

"Oh." Hiyori blinks, notes the way that Ikuya's glaring at the floor. Whatever mood he was in before is back with a vengeance, or at least that's what it looks like. "...Okay?"

"I want you to wait until you're actually better," Ikuya says. "Even though it sucks." And he glares at Hiyori like he's trying to prove something, like he isn't expecting Hiyori to believe him.

"I know," Hiyori says, because he does.

"It's not..." Ikuya sighs. "I know I talk a lot about us being teammates but...you know that I care about you outside of that, right?"

The weirdest feeling sweeps through Hiyori—a jump in his stomach and a flushing in his face, stronger than the fever had been. He really hopes he doesn't go bright red as he looks away. He's not _used_ to this—to Ikuya just saying things like that. "I know," he manages. "I...thank you."

Ikuya makes a face at that, looking—from the glimpse Hiyori manages in his direction—a little pink around the ears as well. "Don't _thank_ me. That's not how friends work, you dork."

"No, I mean I appreciate you saying it," Hiyori babbles, but Ikuya's thrown himself into his chair with a little too much vehemence, making it scrape across the floor, and scowls at him.

"Whatever. Do you want to hear about today's lecture before I forget it all, or not?"

Hiyori does.

* * *

Hiyori's told by the doctors on Friday that he should be well enough to spend time in the visitors' hall on the following Monday. The timing of it's a little disappointing, but all he can really do is accept it and pass on his apologies to some of the others through Ikuya, and the rest by messaging them directly.

The conversation with Sam is...strange. He'd been frantic the first time Hiyori had checked his phone, answering his messages immediately and asking a ton of questions. Hiyori had apologized (because of course he had), but Sam had kept talking like he hadn't even heard.

And then...they hadn't talked as much.

Part of that is on Hiyori—with all the people he's had visiting him, spending a lot of time on his phone just seemed rude—but Sam's reactions seem different, too. Maybe Hiyori's just imagining it.

He'd asked if there was a time that Sam wanted to come visit, but Sam had shrugged him off, saying he'd rather come in a group with Kisumi and the book club, if that was okay. Hiyori, a little surprised, had agreed. Secretly, it was a little disappointing, but...well, he knew enough about Sam's past to wonder if there were some things he wouldn't want to face just yet, and whether _he_ was one of those things.

So Hiyori’s feeling a little down when, Friday evening while Ikuya’s away at swim practice, Hiyori gets a message from Makoto.

_Is it all right if I come visit you soon? I wanted to see how you were doing._

Hiyori's a little bit flustered by the request—he gets the feeling that Makoto is the sort to make a big deal out of these sorts of things—but there's no way he's going to say no. Besides, he has some questions that he wants to ask. So he agrees cheerfully enough, tells his parents and Ikuya about the change in schedule, and spends the next morning reading the books that Ikuya has bought him until Makoto comes. Just holding it makes him feel happy inside, at least until the plot distracts him. 

Makoto, when he arrives, is carrying an actual basket of fruit. Hiyori is not prepared for this.

"You…took this a bit seriously, huh," he notes, as Makoto sets it down beside the pile of books. He knows he's blushing, and hopes that Makoto will be graceful enough to let it pass without comment.

"Of course," Makoto says. "I've heard the food can get a bit lackluster, too. Do you like melon?"

"Yes," Hiyori mumbles. "Really, you didn't have to go to the trouble."

"It's fine," Makoto says brightly, "I wanted to." He folds his hands in his lap, all business. "So, how are you feeling?"

"Much better now," Hiyori admits. "I was lucky that Ikuya realized what was going on—it was a bit touch-and-go for a little bit." He gave Makoto a serious look. "How much do you know about what happened?"

"A little," Makoto admits. "I was on the wrong campus to be much help, unfortunately, but I put Ikuya in touch with Kisumi, and I know he spent the night at Haru’s place."

Hiyori sighs and nods. He'd heard a little about that from Ikuya, but it didn't hurt to have some outside confirmation. "I need to do something nice for Kisumi and Nanase," he decides. "Or, I guess Ikuya might already be thinking of something and I want to help with that if I can, but…it was really good that Ikuya had people to call." He nods at Makoto seriously. "Thank you for that."

Makoto's expression drops. "Ikuya was really worried, you know."

This makes Hiyori straighten, even as it makes his chest hurt. Ikuya still hasn’t let him ask how he is, how he’s doing, and though it seems like he’s doing okay now, Hiyori can’t help wanting to _know._

"I know. I know this really scared him." Hiyori frowns, bunches up the blankets in his hands. "I never…I always thought I was more responsible than this. I never wanted to put Ikuya through anything like…"

"Like what you went through?"

Hiyori just looks up at Makoto, unable to admit that he's correct.

"When Ikuya almost drowned," Makoto says, voice soft, "I was terrified. We went to the hospital in the coach's car after him, and he was sleeping when we arrived, and he looked so small. This was back when we were children, of course," he adds, with a small smile. "And I remember sitting next to him and thinking, _Wow, I couldn't do anything._ Even Haru was the one who saved him." He smiles wistfully. "I just cried a lot."

"Crying is something," Hiyori murmurs.

"Is it?" Makoto looks sheepish. "It's just a thing I've always done."

"It is," Hiyori says, more firmly. "He must've known how worried everyone was."

Makoto goes quiet for a moment, and then looks up, serious. "Does it help? Knowing?"

Hiyori didn't expect to be pinned by that gaze. He finds himself shrinking from it, a little.

"Because Ikuya was worried sick about you," Makoto says, and the words aren't unkind, they're gentle, and they still stick to Hiyori and burn like pitch, a feeling of guilt and shame that he can't scrape off. "He was crying too, you know."

"I…" Hiyori bites his lip. "I didn't want that. That's the last thing I wanted."

"I know," Makoto says. "Which is why when Ikuya woke up, I tried to pretend like I wasn’t crying. Even back then." He smiles, and it's a little pained. "I wasn't very good at it, though."

"I…never cried," Hiyori admits. "Not then. Not about that, but…maybe it would've been more honest if I had."

"Why didn't you?"

He shrugs. "I never could."

"You were scared," Makoto says softly, and to Hiyori’s surprise, he sounds like he understands. "People can't always cry when they're scared. Most of the time, my emotions go straight to my tear ducts, but sometimes...something is too big, or too scary, or just too much, if that makes sense."

"I just…never wanted it to happen again," Hiyori says. "That’s what I focused on."

Makoto nods sadly. "You thought it would.” 

Ridiculously, Hiyori finds he has to swallow against his closing throat. "It did," he chokes out. "Never quite when I thought, but I usually wasn't that far off. I had to be ready. Just in case."

Makoto shakes his head. "You know…I never had that sense of responsibility? I always thought, the adults would handle it. Haru would handle it. Ikuya's brother would take care of the rest."

 _Responsibility._ The word hangs over Hiyori's head, and he rests his face in his hands, pressing at his cheekbones with his fingers. All of him aches, but the parts that are trying to open up and cry hurt the worst of all, because even now, he can't quite let himself.

"I was an idiot," he mutters instead, but Makoto only chuckles.

"Maybe. But that sort of pride isn't a totally bad thing. You've done a lot for him."

"I suppose, but you're the one who said I was trying too hard."

"That's true," Makoto says thoughtfully. "But I think it's more true now than it was then."

"How do you mean?"

"Well," says Makoto, "the difference is, I kind of get the sense now that Ikuya is trying a little harder to reach out to others. You can let him do a little bit more of the trying, now. He wants to."

Hiyori sighs. "You know the really stupid part?"

"I'm sure it isn't stupid," Makoto demurs, "but what is it?"

"I don't know how to be friends _back_."

Makoto smiles, and it's a gentle thing. "Tell me what you mean."

Hiyori does, at length. The words feel stupid at first, feel embarrassing and awkward and too-personal and just clunky in his mouth, because he's never had a way to describe the sense of otherness, of being-smiled-at-and-shrinking, of guilt at his gracelessness and ingratitude, of fear that he can neither justify nor explain. The thought that he simply isn't enough to merit others' kindness, and that when they realize he can’t even pretend he is, they’ll only turn on him.

"Ugh," he says, when the words finally run out, and his chest hurts and his throat is raw and his nose and cheeks and forehead are throbbing and he's pretty sure none of that is because he’s sick. "I am so sorry. You shouldn’t have had to listen to any of that."

"No," Makoto says, "but I didn't mind. I think you needed a test run."

"A test run…" It is only the awareness of what Makoto has just done for him that prevents Hiyori from letting out a groan.

"I think," Makoto says, confirming the worst of Hiyori's suspicions, "you should try saying some of this to Ikuya sometime."

"I really think I should break it down a little more first," Hiyori protests weakly.

"You're welcome to try," Makoto says, "but I think it's more important not to wait." He pauses, and his voice, already gentle, grows even gentler. "Do you want me to talk to him first?"

Hiyori blinks. "You'd do that?"

"He's my friend," Makoto says firmly. "I think it'd be good for him, too."

"Then…" The thought of someone being willing to warn Ikuya, if not warn him off, is as tempting as it is frightening. "Please. And…and tell him he doesn't have to listen, if he doesn't want to hear it. I wouldn't mind more time to work it out on my own."

"I'm pretty sure he'll want to hear it," Makoto says. "But I promise, I'll let him know."

Makoto leaves shortly thereafter, and Hiyori sits back, still sore and buzzing like he's run a marathon, head starting to cloud over again with the medications. He pulls out his phone and texts Ikuya before he can second-guess himself.

_can I have Nanase's number_

It takes Ikuya a little while to answer.

_why?_

_Bc I need to get about a million nice things for Makoto, so I need to know what he likes_

Ultimately, he gets the number. He puts it in his phone, and tells himself he’ll text Haruka in a few days. Never mind _wanting_ Makoto as a friend, which he absolutely does—he is going to have to work his ass off if he's going to feel like he even remotely deserves him.

* * *

When Kisumi comes to visit by himself on Sunday, he looks very pleased with himself. He has a giant box of cookies that he happily plunks down on Hiyori's shins and then, at Hiyori's offer, helps him start eating.

"It's from the guys at the basketball circle," he says, beaming, and Hiyori jumps a bit, embarrassed. "I hope it's okay that I told them what was going on. Everybody was really worried. There's a card in there, too."

"Oh," Hiyori squeaks out, and Kisumi laughs at him. He can't even get out how grateful he is around the embarrassment clogging his throat, so he takes a bite of cookie he doesn't really need and tries to calm himself down.

It isn't actually that bad, though. Kisumi's as chill and easy to spend time with as always, another nice change of pace. He seems even less bothered than everyone else by how long it's going to take Hiyori to get back into the swing of things, telling him to take it easy and only seeming very mildly skeptical when Hiyori promises to try. 

"You can always hang out with us once you're out, you know," he says. "Even if you don't play."

"I think I can manage a round or two of HORSE, at least," Hiyori says. "But I'll ask the doctor about it."

"Cool." Kisumi pauses. "...I guess the book club would be a better fit for you at first, huh? I've been thinking about going to a few more of those meetings, actually." He makes a face. "Once Sam told me that I don't _have_ to do the reading. I guess it could be conversation practice?"

Hiyori restrains himself from raising his eyebrows. _Interesting._ "I can give you the simple version beforehand, if you want."

Kisumi beams. "Really? That'd be perfect!"

Hiyori's perfectly happy to do that much—it'll be good practice for him, too—and Kisumi even promises to bring along a copy of the next book the group will be reading, so Hiyori can work on that. With any luck, he'll be out and able to go to the next meeting. He's missed the book club...though he wonders about Kisumi being invited. Has Sam talked to him about...well, what a lot of the foreign kids, at least, are there for?

It's kind of hard to tell. Kisumi doesn't seem like the sort who'd judge, but since he hasn't said anything, Hiyori's not sure if he even knows. And if he doesn't, Hiyori doesn't want to be the one to bring it up.

He'll ask Sam the next time he sees him, maybe.

Once Kisumi leaves, Hiyori works up the courage to fish the envelope out of the box. It's a bright-red thing, one of the ones they sell in stationery stores, and he opens it to find a colorful "Get Well Soon" card covered in doodles from at least a dozen people.

It's genuinely hard to open it, even in the room by himself, and even harder to read the messages inside. He has to take breaks, his eyes drifting up to the ceiling, genuinely worked up and annoyed at himself in equal measure. Most of the messages are pretty generic, fortunately, but he can't actually read all the names in their scribbled handwriting, which is a little stressful.

He spots Sam's handwriting in there, in bright, electric blue pen, with some pretty simple well-wishes. There's a few doodles of stars and a lopsided doodle of a basketball nearby, but then Hiyori notices something odd—the space where the basketball's drawn has been whited out, with the tip of bright orange sticking out from underneath at a weird, diagonal angle.

Hiyori puzzles over this for a long moment—if Sam had messed up with an orange pen, why draw over top it with a blue one?—and worries at the white-out with one slightly overgrown nail. The line continues, and joins with another, and Hiyori gingerly keeps scraping, trying to avoid wrecking as little of Sam's doodles as he can.

He's distracted from that by the message underneath, though.

_Take care  
— K. K. _

Hiyori considers it for a long moment, and then sighs. Warning Kinjou about maybe catching something off him wasn't something he'd gotten around to worrying about yet, so at least it seems he doesn't need to. He's comfortable with assuming that Kinjou will know enough to go to a doctor if he does get sick, which is pretty unlikely in the first place.

Still...well-wishes that still come off as a threat. How very Kinjou.

Hiyori wonders, briefly, if it's bad that he actually thinks it's a little bit funny. It's almost definitely his petty side that thinks the idea of Sam intentionally covering it up after Kinjou signed it is even more amusing.

He stands the card up next to his bed, aware that his parents—and possibly Ikuya—are going to ask about it. He probably shouldn't be as embarrassed about it as he is, so it'll be good practice. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ikuya's POV next time, most probably! The story's in a weird sort of transitional period, so I hope I'm managing to keep things interesting. I've had a lot of plates to keep spinning lately, but I'm trying to keep these chapters coming out as best I can, but I've been a bit pressed for time. 
> 
> In related news, there's a slight chance that I may need to take a week off at some point in the next month or so, but since I'm not sure if it's happening yet, I can't say exactly when. I'll probably stick a notification on my Twitter (@turtlemudge) if I end up needing to take a break. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!


	27. Crash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not all of what Ikuya's learning are things he wants to hear, but that doesn't make them any less important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a jump backward in this chapter, because it's Ikuya's POV now. A lot of the moments in this chapter happen before, during, and after the events of the last one. Hopefully the timing is reasonably clear! 
> 
> Thanks as always to my beta for keeping me more or less coherent, and way more on time than I would've been otherwise.

Once Hiyori's parents are back in the picture, Ikuya ends up seeing him less often. He hadn't really thought about it, but it's the obvious conclusion to things. It's easier on his schedule, sure, but Ikuya finds that it isn't easier in general. He misses him, and it doesn't leave him thinking about Hiyori any less.

He spends a fair bit of the time he'd spent visiting over on the Hidaka campus—neither of them are that far from the hospital, and he finds that he focuses better on studying when there's someone else in the room with him. Asahi gets his hangout time that way, too—he gets to spend time with a lot of people, mainly because he tries not to be too much of a burden on any one of them. They hang out as a group sometimes, too, but mostly Ikuya tags along with someone when they have free time that lines up.

It's a little embarrassing—they're probably doing it at least in part because they feel bad for him—but at the same time, it's nice to get to spend time together again.

He's with Asahi on some benches outside, drinking canned coffee and enjoying the last bits of warmth from the winter sun overhead, when he sees a pair of people coming towards them. One of them he recognizes, and the other he doesn't.

Asahi spots them, too. "Hey, Kisumi!" He waves his hand over his head, and Kisumi waves back, not changing his pace. They come up looking casual enough, and Ikuya realizes that he recognizes the other person, too.

"Hey," he says, still trying to work it out. It takes him a second to place him—surely it's no one he knew from America, and yet it's a foreigner he recognizes...

Then it clicks, and it's all he can do not to glare at the exchange student who's striding up to him like he doesn't have a fear in the world, narrow shoulders squared.

"Hi," Kisumi says, cheerfully enough, but then his companion steps forward.

"Hello," he says, in English. "I don't think we've been introduced. I'm Sam."

"Ikuya," Ikuya says. He stands up—gaining at least ten centimeters on Sam as he does, he notices with an odd rush of satisfaction, and extends his hand. "Nice to meet you."

Sam shakes his hand. He's got smallish, soft hands with a few freckles on the back of them, and there's something in his expression that Ikuya doesn't like.

"Asahi," says Asahi beside him, and Ikuya looks over to see him looking alarmed. "Uh. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too," Sam says, bowing stiffly at him. He turns back to Ikuya."How’s Hiyori doing?" he asks, in English, no honorific for Hiyori’s name. Ikuya fights the urge to bristle at the familiarity. "Can he have visitors?"

"He's in the ICU," Ikuya answers, also in English. He's pretty sure that's the right word; he remembers it from the time he was hospitalized. "Right now it's just family."

Sam folds his arms. "And you?"

"His family wasn't here at first, so they gave me permission."

Sam nods, looking unhappy about it. "How is he?"

"Resting," Ikuya says shortly.

Sam looks frustrated, like he’s not sure how much of Ikuya’s reticence is because of the language barrier. Ikuya stares at him as he searches for a parting line so he can leave.

He waits too long; Sam speaks again, his pace is a bit slower now, courteous to foreign ears. Ikuya could probably get by without it, but it does help. Even if it's a little bit condescending.

(Ikuya's gotten used to that sort of help. By now he might simply be immune to it.)

"Is he going to be okay?"

"Yes, he is," Ikuya answers firmly. "The doctors say he just needs to rest."

"Will he?" Sam asks. "Will he sit out swim practice, too?"

"Until he's better, yes," Ikuya answers.

"Is that okay with you?" Sam asks, and he sounds almost genuinely curious. It's an innocent-sounding question that nonetheless makes Ikuya's hackles rise immediately in this context.

"Of course it's okay," he says. "He has to get better. That's what's important."

"Are you sure you're not pushing him too hard?"

Ikuya stares. This kid, who barely comes up to Ikuya's chin, is staring at him with poorly-concealed anger that Ikuya has an odd feeling that he recognizes from somewhere. It reminds him of...Hiyori?

"Yes, I am," Ikuya says. "I'm the one who convinced him to see a doctor. He's bad at taking care of himself."

Sam crosses his arms. "Is that so."

"Yes," Ikuya says, and leaves it at that.

Beside them, Asahi and Kisumi are shifting, looking uncomfortable. Ikuya doesn’t know how much of this conversation they’re keeping up with, and he doesn’t like it, but there’s no way they’ve missed the odd energy in the air. 

Maybe it’s some sort of cultural difference, but he can't get Sam's angle at all. He's pretty sure some important things are going straight over his head. He's not even sure what Sam _wants,_ or why he's staring at Ikuya in the way he is.

Sam eventually breaks the silence, apparently having come to a decision. "I have something to show you," he says. "Do you have a second?"

"What is it?" Ikuya asks, cautious.

“Nothing big,” Sam promises him, and then turns to the others. “If you could excuse us?” 

They stare back, cowed. Ikuya rolls his eyes and adds, “I’ll be right back,” in Japanese for their benefit. They nod at him, and Ikuya and Sam step away. 

“Okay,” Sam says. He’s playing with his phone, turning it over between his fingers. “Do you know about the poetry reading Hiyori went to a few months back?"

"Yeah," Ikuya says, then realizes he’s answered a little too quickly.

Sam narrows his eyes at him. "You were there, weren't you?"

Ikuya blinks.

"You _were,_ " Sam says, eyebrows rising. "I thought I recognized you the next morning."

Ikuya can't tell what Sam thinks of that. "You're the one who made him drink too much," he says back, blunt.

Sam glares at him again. "I suppose I did," he says. "I didn't mean to."

"Didn't you?"

An innocent blink. "Are you implying something?"

Ikuya stays silent. They stare each other down.

"Anyway, if you really were spying on him," Sam says, apparently having adjusted to the idea just like that, and allowing Ikuya no room to protest, "then you probably saw him recite. Did you catch any of it?"

"Not really," Ikuya admits.

"I'm glad I got a picture of it, then," Sam says, looking down at his phone to tap away at it. "It was a good poem. Your English is pretty good, so you can read, too, right?"

Ikuya nods. Sam's compliments are incredibly backhanded, but he's not sure how much he's imagining it. All he knows is that right now he _really_ doesn't like him.

“If you tell me your number, I’ll text it to you.”

Ikuya stares at him for a long moment. Sam stares back, unfazed. 

“Fine,” he says, and tells him. Sam taps away at his phone, and a moment later Ikuya’s buzzes under his fingers. 

"It might take some work to understand it,” Sam tells him. “It's short, but some of it is tricky."

"Sure." Ikuya puts his phone back in his pocket.

Sam sighs, and deflates a little bit. He looks up at Ikuya. "Is he really going to be okay?"

Ikuya stares. For someone who was insulting him a minute ago, Sam is suddenly all concern, surprisingly vulnerable. And yet, he finds that he wants to reassure him...probably because of who he's asking about, he decides. "He should be," he says. "But it was...bad."

Sam frowns. "I wish I could've been there."

"You’re going to a different school."

"Still."

Sam looks honestly dejected and frustrated, but somehow that makes his reaction even more irritating. Ikuya doesn't know why until the answer pushes out of his mouth. "We did our best. It turned out okay." 

_We didn’t need you there._

Sam looks so honestly frustrated, and more than a little upset, staring at Ikuya. It seems clear to both of them, by now, that the language barrier is the least of the distance between them in this conversation.

"When you can," Sam says, finally, stepping back, "Can you remind him to check in with our group chat? Me and the rest of the international students are worried about him."

"I'll try to remember," Ikuya says honestly.

"As long as he checks his phone, he should message us anyway," Sam says sheepishly. "Kisumi filled us in on what happened, and we've all been asking him when we can visit."

"Hiyori can be bad at messaging sometimes," Ikuya warns him, not entirely sure whether or not it's true but hoping to give him an out, just in case.

"That's okay," Sam says. "We just want to know how he’s doing."

"You can always check with me," Ikuya says. “Since you have my number and everything.” 

Sam stares. "Would that be okay?" he asks.

If he gets sick of it, he can always block him. "Sure."

"All right.” Sam stares at him, and then adds in a rush, “Read the poem. I'm pretty sure it's about you." 

And then he turns, and raises a hand, and walks out before Ikuya can question anything about that enigmatic parting line. Ikuya Sam march away, presumably in the direction of his dorms, until he turns a corner and disappears from view. 

He doesn't look at the poem right away. He wanders back to the others, tells them that the conversation went fine, and avoids Kisumi’s concerned glance as he makes his goodbyes. He waits till he gets to the bus stop to pull his phone out of his pocket again. 

He navigates to the picture he’s received and drags at it until the font’s large enough to comfortably read. It’s a slightly blurry picture, taken in low light and at a bit of an angle, but easy enough to read. 

The title of the poem is "Sidekicks." Ikuya stares at it for a long moment before moving on to the text. 

It's not a long poem, but Ikuya doesn't recognize all the words. It takes him a few readings to puzzle through most of it, and around when he thinks he gets the gist of it he has to take a hand away from his phone to rub at his eyes, uncomfortable.

He pushes his phone back deep down into his pocket as the bus pulls up. There was never any way he _wasn't_ going to read it, but now he wonders if he's made a mistake. He gets the feeling he doesn’t understand everything yet, but it’s obvious that it’s...private. 

He's not going to bring it up to Hiyori anytime soon.

* * *

He doesn't tell Hiyori, but having Hoshikawa come to visit is Ikuya's idea.

The practice on Friday feels...almost normal, except for Hiyori's obvious absence. He's able to focus on his technique again, and the feeling of awkwardness from his teammates (which he might or might not have been imagining, or might have been well-intentioned) is almost gone. 

But something about being back, looking at his times and checking Shin's and Kotarou's for good measure, Sam's conversation rings in the back of his head again, and for once, not the part about the poem.

He couldn't really get the guy at all—he seemed like a bundle of contradictions, hostile and then mysterious by turns. Why had he even deigned to talk to Ikuya in the first place, if he cares about Hiyori and thinks Ikuya only cares about him filling out his relay team?

Maybe it's those thoughts that have him going up to Hoshikawa at the end of practice, and Hoshikawa seems to notice him pretty quickly.

"Kirishima." He tugs at the towel around his shoulders. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine," Ikuya says.

"And Toono?"

"He's...doing better." Ikuya shifts awkwardly, bare feet on half-dried tile. "I...wanted to talk to you about that, actually."

Hoshikawa looks almost relieved, turning to face him head-on. "Sure. What is it?"

"I..." Ikuya swallows. "This might be a lot to ask, but...can you talk to him? I think...he's going to be worried about when he can start swimming again."

"I see." Hoshikawa nods, looking thoughtful. "Can he have visitors yet?"

"Yeah, as long as it's one person at a time." Ikuya explains a little bit more about Hiyori's situation, and Hoshikawa listens carefully.

"I see," he says. "Yeah, if you'd ask him for me when I might be able to come, that'd be great." 

They compare notes on schedules, and Ikuya's getting the sense that the conversation's drawing to a natural close. Which would be fine, only there's something else he wants to tell Hoshikawa, too. He's just not sure what it is, exactly.

"He..." Ikuya pauses, swallows. "You're going to tell him to take as much time as he needs, right?"

Hoshikawa looks at him for a long moment. "That's more or less what I was thinking, yes," he says, voice neutral. "Is that a problem?"

It stings a little, hearing the same sort of question from the captain. Ikuya considers himself driven, sure. He has high standards for himself and, by extension, his teammates. He knows that the level they're competing at is anything but forgiving, that it's meant to push people in their age group and circumstances to the outward limits of their abilities. He has a lot of respect for the amount of effort that it takes to go that far. He has to, if he's going to do it safely.

That doesn't mean he's an _asshole,_ and he's wondering why everyone seems to think he is.

"I think he really needs to hear it," he says instead. "I think it'll have a bit more impact coming from you, maybe."

Hoshikawa's neutral expression breaks, and he chuckles a bit, looking rueful. "Well, in that case, I hope it does. You're hoping I'll help sit on him till he's actually ready to get back, then?"

Ikuya nods, a little bit relieved. He doesn't actually like the idea of Hiyori staying benched, but ultimately it's exactly what needs to happen. "Yes," he says. "I'm worried he won't know his own limits."

Yes, it's hypocritical; no, he doesn't care. He's never been great at keeping himself healthy—in one piece, with help, yes, but even that's been a bit of a close thing. He doesn't know if he'll be able to keep Hiyori from overworking himself, not if he tries alone. So far, even with other people hinting that Hiyori needed rest, he's managed to ignore the signs, and he doesn't want to make the same mistake again if he can help it.

From Hoshikawa's slightly amused smile, he can see the reason for Ikuya's request clearly enough. "Got it," he says. "I'll help as much as I can. Let me know when I can come see him."

* * *

So Ikuya takes Hoshikawa to see Hiyori shortly after that. He'd kind of hoped he'd be able to hear the conversation, but is willing enough when Hoshikawa sends him away. As long as the conversation happens, that's all he can ask for.

He doesn't _love_ it when he comes back and Hiyori tries to break the news about his time off gently. He appreciates that Hiyori is trying to spare his feelings, so he tries not to show that he's upset. Hearing Hiyori practically kicking himself off the team doesn't help, either. They'll take him back as soon as he's able, and he seems to think he's just going to get left behind, but...whatever, they can handle that once he's better. The important thing right now is not to say something that won't encourage him to rush back. There'll be time for the rest of it. 

Saying what he says, though...dammit, saying that he cares about Hiyori should be easy. More to the point, it should be _obvious._ There's hardly been a time over the last few weeks when he hasn't been thinking about Hiyori, and he's hardly a good enough person that he'd worry this much about someone else if he didn't care about them a great deal. So telling Hiyori that he cares is hard, but worth it.

Watching him blush over it is cute, as well, but at the same time it kind of bothers him. Under the embarrassment, as Ikuya pulls his books from his bag, he can't help but stew over it a little bit. 

Why does everyone—including Hiyori—think he's going to push Hiyori right back to the breaking point? What is it about what he's done that makes them all draw that conclusion?

He doesn't like it, he decides. Whatever it is he's been doing, he's going to have to find a way to stop, to change their minds.

Hiyori managed to keep Ikuya relatively healthy and sane, almost on his own, for years. Ikuya isn't anywhere near as good at it as Hiyori is, though. So he's going to ask for help, early and often, so he doesn't make the same mistakes with Hiyori that he's known to make with himself. Hiyori deserves better than the bad habits he's constantly tried to protect Ikuya from.

That night, Natsuya drags him out to dinner with Nao. Ikuya complains that everyone thinks he's a workaholic, Natsuya teases him about it, and Nao willingly chats a little bit about what Hiyori's recovery process might look like, though he doesn't make any promises. It doesn't really answer any of Ikuya's questions, or solve much of anything, but it helps more than he would have expected it to. 

* * *

Saturday, in the mid-morning, Ikuya opens his phone to an odd message from Hiyori, and, shortly after their exchange, another from Makoto: _Were you thinking of visiting Hiyori-kun later today?_

_yeah_ , he texts back as he goes to his dorm. Might as well drop off his bags first. _you gone yet?_

_Yes. I talked to him earlier, and I think he could use a rest. I know it's a lot to ask, but could we meet instead?_

He thinks back to Hiyori's message, just a few minutes earlier. He's more than willing to help pay back Hiyori's perceived mass of favors. _sure_ , he replies, _but somewhere close to home for you? you’ve gone out of your way plenty today already_.

Makoto's message is quick and cheery, and comes with a link to a map. _Sure! You can just come over to my place, if you want._

Ikuya agrees, and swings by a bakery on the way in, bringing back some cookies—some to eat, some to keep for later. His diet isn't so strict that he can't have one or two for manners' sake, and Makoto can keep the rest.

Ikuya can tell Makoto's been studying when he arrives. He's got a few clips in his hair, pulling it back away from his eyes, and there are textbooks scattered across his table, a notebook left neatly atop one of them with a pen balancing von top of it. He's dressed comfortably, and he smiles welcomingly at Ikuya as he lets him inside.

"Sorry about the mess," he says, and Ikuya just shakes his head.

"It's fine." Ikuya lifts the box. "I brought cookies."

Makoto claps his hands together in delight. He's every bit the sap he was as a child, Ikuya thinks. It's amazing, the way he's stayed open and kind, though he somehow gives off a mature air now, too. "Thank you! Go ahead and set them down. I'll make tea. Unless you'd prefer coffee?"

"Tea is fine."

Makoto has green tea and black tea and a few herbals, and he brings out a small basket filled with them for Ikuya to choose from. Hiyori has something similar, a bit less organized and cutesy, but Ikuya often doesn't see it; he knows what kinds of tea Hiyori has, and Hiyori knows his preferences. He picks out a green tea and sets the bag in a mug while Makoto waits for the kettle to boil.

"How were classes?" he asks. "Did you make it to the afternoon ones all right?"

"Fine," Ikuya says. "How about you? Sorry to keep you up so late last night."

"It was no trouble," Makoto says, and pours the tea. "My classes were fine." He hands Ikuya back his mug, and Ikuya takes it, setting it down a bit quickly as the heat soaks through the sides.

"I'm glad," Ikuya says, and the conversation peters out as he stares at his tea. He knows, vaguely, what's about to happen, and he's a little bit reluctant to jump right into it, so instead he opens the box of cookies and offers it to Makoto, silently.

"Thank you," Makoto says, and takes a bite. He lights up. "These are really good!"

"I'm glad," Ikuya says, and nibbles on the corner of one himself. It's a little dry, but he thinks that's probably his nerves more than the fault of the cookie itself.

"So," he says, after a few moments of chewing. He fights the urge to set the cookie down. "You said you saw Hiyori this afternoon. How was he?"

"Definitely recovering," Makoto says immediately. "He's a very level-headed person, isn't he? I could tell he wasn't feeling his best, but he was as polite and considerate as always."

"He can be…conscientious," Ikuya settles for.

Makoto waits, still, to see what he talks about next. He doesn't needle, the way Ikuya is used to. Hiyori, when they're alone, often isn't shy about pushing the things that Ikuya needs to talk about. Not when he feels like Ikuya can handle it, anyway.

"You didn't want me to visit him again," he says. "Or…not right away?"

Makoto's patience looks a little sad around the edges, now. "Not quite," he says, carefully. "That was a bit of misdirection on my part, I'm sorry. It's true that Hiyori seemed like he needed some time to recuperate, but as for the rest of it…I wanted to talk to you before you saw him again." His gaze falters a bit, but when he looks back at Ikuya, he's managed a smile. "Well, it was my idea, but Hiyori also asked me to."

Ikuya's heart drops. "Is there something Hiyori thinks he can’t talk to me about?"

The truth is, there is nothing Hiyori could say that Ikuya wouldn't willingly hear. There's no insult, no criticism, no expression of hurt that he would hesitate to take to heart, no matter how much it hurt, because he owes Hiyori that. And more, honestly.

Hiyori might have decided to hide all of it on his own—Ikuya is pretty sure he's never _wanted_ to be kept in the dark—but ultimately, Ikuya knows he has hurt him, even if he doesn't yet know exactly how, and they both deserve to have that out in the open between them.

Or at least, that's Ikuya's thinking. It hurts, too, to know that Hiyori still doesn't feel the same.

"He…wanted you to have a buffer," Makoto says. "He wasn't sure how you would take it."

"I am not made of glass," Ikuya says, and it's sharper than he wants it, but it seems to just bounce off Makoto. Still, Ikuya pauses, tries to rein himself in. Even without Hiyori here to witness it, he doesn’t want to prove him right.

"I know that," Makoto says. "I think Hiyori knows it, too, really." He fishes out his teabag, wincing a bit at the heat as he sets it aside. "Ikuya," he adds, softly. "I think he's scared. For himself, not for you. I think he just doesn't know how to say it."

Ikuya bites his lip. "I know," he says, because he does. Yet somehow, Hiyori has a way of changing the focus on him. It's like trying to talk past a mirror; every time he tries to talk to Hiyori, he ends up focused on himself.

Well, first things first. "What is he scared of?"

Makoto sighs. "I'm…not completely sure I understand it," he admits. "He tried his best to explain it to me, but I've never really experienced anything like it myself." He frowns at the table, apparently looking for a place to start. "Hiyori…doesn't think he relates well to others."

Ikuya nods, frowning. "He's told me that," he says. "He said he's never had many friends."

"I think, other than you, he might say he doesn't have any," Makoto says. "Before this year, that is."

"That seems…difficult to believe," Ikuya says.

"I thought so, too," Makoto mused. "But I wasn't going to try to argue with him about it."

"I've tried," Ikuya says, and something occurs to him. "But you're right. I think he was scared to hear it. He didn't argue, but he wouldn't agree with me, either."

"Is he always like that?" Makoto asks. "Reluctant to share what he thinks."

"Well, sometimes," Ikuya says. He rests his chin on one hand, thinking about it. "And in some ways. In other ways, he shares his opinion all the time. He's always giving me advice, telling me what he thinks about things. Especially me." There's plenty to be self-conscious about in that, so he moves on before he can let himself think too much about it. He frowns. "But I can't help but feel like there's a lot he leaves out, too. Like whatever he talked to you about."

"I don't think he's very good with feelings," Makoto says, but tentatively, like he's feeling it out as he speaks. "Or…not all of them, maybe. He complimented me once, you know? Before you came to find us, that time at the café."

Ikuya doesn't know whether to smile at the news, or grimace because of what a shitshow that had turned into. "Right. What did he say?"

"That I'd make a good pro-level coach." Makoto smiles. "It was a very thorough compliment. He's a very kind person, isn't he?"

"He is." Ikuya, oddly, feels himself blushing. "He's…very good at those kinds of compliments."

"He gives them to you too, then."

Ikuya nods, refuses to look at him. "All the time. I've…I've told him I like them, because…he seemed like he needed to hear it."

"Like he wasn't sure?"

"Yeah. It's strange." Ikuya looks up at Makoto, a little desperate, because he thinks he's found a corner of all this and it bothers him. "He'll talk to me about me, all the time—about the things that affect me, about how I'm feeling, about what I want or don't want, about how I'm improving or where I'm falling short. He's always so nice about it. But whenever I want to talk about him, it's like there's some sort of wall."

"Or a mirror, right?"

Ikuya jumps a little. "Exactly. It's like talking to a mirror," he says, miserable. "I can't get to him."

"I think it's his way of protecting himself," Makoto says, thoughtful.

"But why?" Ikuya flattens his hands on the table; it's all he can do not to slam them, he's so frustrated. "I don't want to hurt him! I would never want to hurt him, I—”

"I know," Makoto says softly. "But…well, Ikuya. Over the past few months. Since swimming with Haru again. Would you say that you've changed?"

Ikuya fights with himself on it, but there's only one answer he can truthfully give. "Yes," he admits.

"And what do you think you were like before? Compared to now."

"I was…more standoffish," he admits. "I didn't open up to others. It was only because Hiyori pushed me all the time that we stayed close—well, that and eventually it sort of…became a habit?" He's not quite sure how to put it. "...I was horrible. I still don't know how he put up with me."

Or why, he's tempted to add, but that much he's pretty sure he knows. Hiyori's compliments, after all, have always been honest.

"I think he might've been more comfortable that way, actually."

Ikuya flinches, because the moment he hears those words, he knows that they're right. "Yeah," he says softly. "Yeah, you're right. He doesn't seem comfortable around me anymore."

"I'd imagine he feels terrible about that," Makoto says, as if it helps, as if Ikuya can't already guess. "Even I can tell that the last thing he wants is for you to be miserable, but…well, he told me he doesn't know how to talk to you, now. He doesn't know how to answer when you ask him about himself."

"Like in the café," Ikuya murmurs. "You saw that, right? I asked what was wrong and he just…froze."

"That's a pretty good example," Makoto agrees. "You're right. It seemed like he was panicking."

"And he's never honest with me about how he's feeling," Ikuya says. "Well, he'll admit it sometimes when he's happy, but never when something upsets him. He always asks about how I feel, instead."

"He doesn't want to admit to being unhappy, I guess," Makoto murmurs. "Forgive me if I'm wrong, but…I'm guessing that helped cause his breakdown, last time."

"No, I think that's right." Ikuya looks at Makoto, pleading. "Makoto. How can I help him be less scared?"

"I wish I knew," Makoto admits. "I think it might take a while." He shrugs. "But…you're okay, with this? With Hiyori, the way he is now?"

"What do you mean, _okay_?" There are some things he definitely isn't okay with—not Hiyori hurting, or feeling like he has to keep secrets, or putting up fronts. It's one thing if Hiyori can't help it, but that doesn't mean Ikuya has to like it, either.

"I mean..." Makoto pauses, and when he speaks again, it’s with a gentleness and softness that Ikuya feels as a shiver up his spine, "I think Hiyori might be afraid that you're going to give up on him."

Ikuya…sits with that.

He sits with it, and he thinks about it, because more than anything, he wants to say he won't. That he couldn't, not ever. 

But that's not what's true. The truth is that he's never thought about it, because Hiyori has never given him—has made a huge effort to never give him—a reason to even consider the possibility.

"I hate that he's hurting," is what he says, and he curls his fingers into fists on his legs, and he's sitting like he's getting a lecture and he's not sure when that happened. He tries to uncurl, to take a sip of his tea, but it's like he's meeting physical resistance. It's a struggle.

"Can you deal with it?"

He bites his lip. "I…I want to do something about it."

"That's not what I asked," Makoto says, and though the words are mild, sympathetic, and even a little sad, Ikuya can still feel the iron there. He's being lectured, and he knows it, and he doesn't know whether he's angry or just ashamed.

"I can deal with it," Ikuya says, finally. "But that doesn't mean I have to like it."

"That's true." Makoto sits back, apparently satisfied, and waits.

"I…" Ikuya shakes his head. "Is that why he's been…avoiding me? Not wanting to talk about things?"

"I think so, yes," Makoto says. "He's struggling, but he doesn't want to place a burden on you, especially after all the years you spent together."

"And the way we spent them," Ikuya says. He feels sick. "I put all my issues on him. He took them on himself, even when I didn't want him to."

"I don't think that's fair to either of you," Makoto says, gently. "Hiyori is a very kind person, in his way. He wanted to help. He saw how hard you were fighting, too. I don't think he ever resented you for any of this. He's just…frightened. He doesn't know how to ask for help in return."

"I don't know how to help him," Ikuya says. "He's…all these years, and it's like I can't read him at all. And he doesn't want to talk to me, so no matter what he's dealing with, I don't know how to help. And then he just tries to help me instead, and…" He sets his tea down with a clatter, stares at it where a bead of it has splashed over the lip and is dripping down the side. "I'm worried I'm just making everything worse for him."

"I think…" Makoto is thoughtful. "Well, you’ve been spending time with him, right?"

"Spending time?"

"Yes. Just…being with him. Like normal, especially for now." Makoto puts his chin on his hand. "Before we came to Tokyo, Haru was going through a bit of a rough patch. Well, he's had a couple, not that I haven't. And Haru…he's always been very good at just being with me, when something happens. Keeping an eye on me, but just staying by my side and letting me figure things out on my own." He chuckles, a little rueful. "He figures things out on his own, too. I think there were definitely times where I wound both of us up trying to make things better, when probably I should've just waited for Haru to make some decisions for himself."

"Hm." Ikuya thinks about that. "Hiyori's always been pretty independent." He frowns. "But I don't like him thinking that I'm going to get tired of him, either. Is there any way I can…remind him? That I'm not going anywhere?"

"Maybe," Makoto says, smiling. "But…I think that's something the two of you might have to figure out together. Don't you?"

Ikuya's face is burning, suddenly, and he's not entirely sure why. It's something about the look Makoto's given him, some hint of amusement in his voice that has some part of Ikuya feeling oddly exposed.

"Maybe," he mumbles. Then, shamefacedly, "I can't believe I'm so bad at this."

"Hiyori is a high standard to compare yourself to," Makoto demurs. Then he reaches across the table and takes one of Ikuya's hands, large fingers spanning his own easily and holding them gently. "Ikuya."

"W-what?" Ikuya feels pinned under Makoto's gaze. He's always been taller, bigger, but somehow in the intervening years the change became significant. When he leans forward like this, it feels almost like talking to Natsuya—even though they're the same age, even though Makoto's gentle look is completely different.

"Don't forget," Makoto says solemnly. "Hiyori decided to be around for you because he knew you were having a hard time. It seems like things have turned around for you, and that's wonderful. But I don't want you to feel hard on yourself because you were suffering, and couldn't do what you think you should be doing now." He presses each of his fingertips against the back of Ikuya's hand, the gentlest squeeze. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"…Yes."

"You're even both allowed to have trouble at the same time," Makoto continues, and though his voice is light, Ikuya can feel a weight of experience behind it. "It's not either of your faults when that happens."

It's hard, but Makoto has a point. He'd felt abandoned, for years, and terribly lonely, and now he feels those things a lot less. Hiyori has had his past years as a surrogate caretaker, and his own issues with loneliness, build up on him.

Between them, maybe someday they will run out of hope at the same time, and they'll have to figure out what to do about it then. But for now, Hiyori once had more and now seems to be faltering, whereas Ikuya seems to be in fresh supply. They'll do what they always have, and share between them.

Now, if only he can convince Hiyori of that…

"Thank you," Ikuya says. Makoto releases his hand and lets him finish his tea. Then, on a lighter note: "So what did you do, in the hospital? Hiyori seemed a bit flustered over text."

Makoto waves his hands dismissively, eyes wide and deceptively innocent. "Nothing much! I just brought some stuff, you know, to go check in… "

* * *

Ikuya leaves Makoto's dorm with a lot on his mind, and rides the bus home turning his phone over and over in his fingers, wondering what he should do.

He's sure, more than ever, that he's ready for anything that Hiyori might have to say. What he's not sure about is how to go about explaining that, while putting as little pressure on him as possible.

It keeps occurring to him that right now, Hiyori is in the hospital. The image of him before had been a relief, because what he'd been imagining had been so much worse. He'd been awake, and alert, and talking, and that had been enough. But now…remembering it again, all Ikuya can see is the limp hair and the shadows under Hiyori's eyes. A lot of that was the illness, and he hoped like hell that would be over soon, but as for the rest of it…

If he'd been asked before, he's not sure he would have ever thought of Hiyori as fragile. He'd hated his own fragility, despised the way losing Haru had broken him, and would never have wanted to put that description on another person, knowing how other people thought it about him.

But now he thinks of smudged lenses, and frowns hooked at the corners, and Hiyori's head bashing against the floor because Ikuya hadn't known what to do. And he thinks, yes, right now, Hiyori is particularly fragile. Ikuya is fragile, too, but lately he's been getting stronger.

It is human nature, both to grow and to have moments of weakness, and somehow that doesn't seem as awful as it once had. And yet it's all the more reason he wants to be gentle with Hiyori, now.

So he almost doesn't text him that evening at all. He thinks about what he could say, and none of it seems right, but by the time he arrives back on campus it's pushing nine and he knows he'll just feel bad about maybe waking Hiyori up if he texts any later. So he sends a single, quick text—or it should be quick, but it takes at least fifteen solid minutes of agonizing before he finally settles on a fairly straightforward message:

_night, Hiyori. ill come visit tomorrow. take care_

He doesn't know how it'll be received. But for now, it's the best he can do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so a bit more drama along with the angst this chapter...I'm not sure if I should apologize, lol. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! Sending y'all my best wishes, please stay safe~


	28. Resonance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talking and hugging it out. (Most things, anyway.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was going to be more in this chapter, but this scene kept expanding, so the rest of it can wait. Hopefully it'll be a fun one. ;D

Hiyori tries, hard, not to overthink Ikuya's message. He doesn't really succeed.

For one thing, it sets the situation clear enough to be unavoidable—Makoto and Ikuya talked, and now Ikuya wants to talk to him about what Makoto said.

And then there's the message itself. It's hard not to turn it over and over in his head, not to revisit each sentence individually and in combination. They're neither of them particularly meaningful texters, but in this situation Hiyori can't bring himself to ignore the nuances.

He stares at his phone until his head starts to hurt, then puts it down and tries to breathe through the pain. He's memorized the words and says them to himself, each in a different tone, wondering how Ikuya had heard them in his head when he said them.

Ikuya has a beautiful voice. Hiyori's always found his own voice rather grating—more high-pitched than he would like, full of false cheer and charm that he can't turn off. Ikuya, on the other hand...he says what needs to be said, and his voice is low, musical, and subtly expressive. He's quiet, easy not to hear, but that just makes what he has to say more precious because Hiyori's the one that gets to hear it.

His own voice, he has to raise to get anyone to hear it. Even when they're right next to each other, and after all these years, Ikuya can't follow what he says when he mumbles.

But this text…he can't set a tone to it.

He almost can. The visiting part isn't hard. They tell each other their plans to meet all the time, and Hiyori can hear the careful neutrality even through the message.

They doesn't usually bother with "good night" over text, though, and when spoken, there are a dozen different ways it can be said. Usually, it's a half-hearted response to Hiyori being too precious about saying goodbye. Other times, it's a small reminder for Hiyori to let Ikuya sleep already. And it's been everything in between, covering a lot of ground whenever it happens to be said. It's almost a constant, but not quite, and it could literally mean anything.

Though usually, it does mean that they're done talking. And, most likely, that's what Ikuya's using it for here—he's respecting Hiyori's wishes, even though he's finished talking with Makoto; he's intentionally not putting any pressure on him.

Or at least, Hiyori thinks that's the most probable interpretation. 

The last bit, though—the parting salutation, or rather Ikuya's selection of it—that one has him a bit puzzled.

Take care? Why that? He'd already said goodnight, so the inclusion seems pretty deliberate.

Well, it's pretty easy to interpret on its own: it means that something's worrying him. Maybe it's that Hiyori's still in the hospital—that's fair—but if it's not that, then it could be something about Hiyori or what Makoto said about him.

It's harder to accept that than he wants to admit. He doesn't want Ikuya worrying over him, and the reminder makes him wonder what it's like for him, tonight, not being able to tell Hiyori what he's thinking. 

Hiyori stares up at his dark ceiling and feels irritated with himself, more than anything. He hates that he's making Ikuya worry _more_ , on top of everything that's already happened. All of the illness had been at least somewhat out of his control, but he'd made the choice to bring Makoto into this, to drag things out. Shouldn't he have been able to speak to Ikuya directly?

But there is, literally, nothing to do about it now—and worse, he's doing the opposite of what Ikuya asked. So he closes his eyes and waits for sleep to come to him, patient, forgiving. Taking care.

* * *

By the time Ikuya's said he's going to come, it's all Hiyori can do to keep even a shred of the calm he'd gathered himself the night before. 

It's hard to be tense, exactly, when all he's doing is lying down and staring at the ceiling, when the silence is buzzing and calm and there's nothing, actually, for him to do. Or rather, perhaps it is incredibly easy to be tense. Instead of being calm, Hiyori wonders whether he's actually winding tighter and tighter, working himself into a silent frenzy.

The trouble, he notes clinically, staring up at the ceiling, is that he can't tell. And he's no longer bedbound, so there are somewhat more valuable things he can be doing with his time.

So he gets up, fidgets with his hair, straightens his clothes, paces a little. The movements help to release a bit of the invisible tension that's been building in his body. He pulls out one of the books that Ikuya gave him, reads it for a bit. Gives up, works on schoolwork. Ikuya didn't say exactly when he would arrive, and he's been here before, so he knows where to go and probably won't message ahead again—he could arrive literally any minute.

The tension creeps back the instant Hiyori's focus slips. If he's healthy enough to get this wound up about a simple conversation, he thinks, exasperated, he probably shouldn't even still be in a hospital.

That is, he hopes it's going to be a simple conversation.

He closes his eyes, takes a few measured breaths, and then picks up the book from Ikuya he's working on and tries reading that again.

It works a little better this time, and carries him straight through till there's a quiet knock on the door and Ikuya comes in, letting it slide shut behind him.

"Ikuya," he says, as he comes up to the side of the bed. "Hi."

Ikuya doesn't find the chair beside the bed; he stands and looks at Hiyori instead. "Hey." His gaze drifts to the bedside table. "Nice card." 

"Thanks," Hiyori says. "Kisumi brought it by earlier. Most of the basketball circle signed it, apparently." He doesn't mention the small drama with Kinjou and Sam inside; it doesn't really seem like the time. 

"Cool." Ikuya grins briefly, taking a seat. "That was nice of them." 

"It was," Hiyori agrees absently, and then watches, full of trepidation, as Ikuya's smile gradually falls. Great. Apparently Ikuya's not sure how to start this conversation either. 

Casting around for a topic, Hiyori falls into an old habit. Ikuya looks a little strained around the edges, and he can't help but wonder if it's tiredness as well as strain. "Did you sleep okay last night?" 

Ikuya gives him a meaningful look. "Did you?"

"…Eventually." It's probably not worth it to bother pointing out that Ikuya didn't even pause before countering his question. Hiyori finds himself wondering if Ikuya is angry with him.

"Eventually." Ikuya's tone is dry.

He tries to play it off. "Mm-hmm."

"I distracted you from sleeping, didn't I."

"You sent me a text message," Hiyori says, and pulls off a dry chuckle. "It's my fault I read it."

"And overthought it?"

The chuckle dies into something a little more tired. "…Yeah."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You were keeping me in the loop." He looks up at Ikuya, who's still sitting there, watching him carefully. "I appreciate that."

Ikuya pauses, frowns. "Are you…ready to talk about this?"

"Are you?" 

Ikuya, instead of answering, scoots the chair as close as he can get to Hiyori's bedside. Hiyori moves aside his desk attachment to make room for him. "I've…I've been ready," he says. "I didn't know what it was you were keeping from me, but I was trying to prepare for anything."

"I'm sorry," Hiyori says. "None of this has been fair to you."

"Well, maybe I'm due a little unfairness." Ikuya reaches up and puts a hand on his shoulder. "Hiyori. Do you think that for the next little while, you can stop apologizing?"

Hiyori looks over at him, and swallows. "I…think apologies might be called for."

"If you really need to, you can do it at the end," Ikuya says. "I just…I'd really like to know what's going on. From you. Not from Makoto, and not by guessing and overthinking everything either one of us has ever said."

Hiyori takes a breath in, hissing, through his teeth. Every single thing Ikuya is saying makes him want to immediately apologize, but now he isn't allowed to do that. "I don't like seeing you upset," he says instead.

"I can deal with being upset," Ikuya tells him. "I want to be here, having this conversation. I want to hear what you have to say."

"Unless it's an apology," Hiyori mutters, rebellious, and Ikuya squeezes his shoulder, actually looking a little grimly amused.

"Yes, that." He doesn't even try to shy away from the hypocrisy in that, in criticizing what Hiyori says he wants to say right after telling him he wants to hear from him. And yet, it's that very brazenness which makes Hiyori decide to give up and go along with him.

"I'm not really sure where to start," he admits. 

Ikuya's gaze doesn't falter. "Start anywhere." 

That doesn't actually help as much as Ikuya might think it does. Hiyori reaches for something that might count as a beginning, but words and even ideas fail him, and he's left staring at Ikuya helplessly. 

Ikuya hasn't lost that straightforward, intense gaze, but now he frowns a little. "Makoto said that...you're expecting me to give up on you, or something." He grimaces, like the words leave an unpleasant taste in his mouth. "Can you tell me why?" 

"Well..." It's as good a starting point as any, Hiyori supposes, and blurts the first beginning-of-an-answer that comes to mind. "I was an okay friend, when you needed me."

"You were more than okay," Ikuya says.

"Fine, maybe. But now…" Hiyori shrugs, draws up one knee to lean on. He feels exhausted only a little into the conversation, wanting to hide and sure that he's started in entirely the wrong place. "Now you can do so much better than having me around. If I were a better person, I would want that for you."

"But you don't," Ikuya says.

"No, I do. Ikuya, you're my best friend." Hiyori looks down. "And I'm not good for you, not anymore. I hate that."

"What is it about you, exactly," Ikuya says, and his gaze is still hard and unflinching and Hiyori can hardly bear to glance at him, but his gaze keeps drawing him back, little fleeting glances, "that you think isn't good enough?"

There's a weighty pause. Hiyori doesn't have the right words for this, either, so he gives up on trying to find them. "I don't know how to let you be nice to me."

Ikuya looks confused. "What do you mean?"

"When…when you're happy…" and Hiyori has to breathe at the reminder he's made that they're friends in part because Ikuya _wasn't_ , "you're so kind to people, Ikuya. You're open. People respond well to you. And even though we've known each other for so long, I…don't."

"I make you uncomfortable," Ikuya says.

"No!" Hiyori says. "I just…I'm awkward, Ikuya. I shouldn't be, not after all these years, but I am."

"You said yourself that I've changed," Ikuya says. "What part of you being uncomfortable is unreasonable, given that?"

"I…never was, before," Hiyori says. "Or, if I was, I found a way to deal with it. Why is it you being happy that's the thing that's tripping me up?" He drops his gaze to his lap, his hands fisting in his blankets. "I hate that. I feel like I'm manipulating you, just like I always have."

"You didn't manipulate me," Ikuya says.

Hiyori forces himself to look at Ikuya, at that. He forces himself even when he feels his eyes burning and scrunching up and tears trying to well up, because if they're going to have this conversation, really have it, then neither of them should be allowed to lie.

"You _didn't_ ," Ikuya insists. "You gave me nudges. Pushes, sometimes. But I only ever went along with you because I wanted to."

Hiyori's breath is stuck in his throat. "Really?" he asks, voice tiny, and shakes his head, closing his eyes. They're stinging. "No, don't answer—"

"I mean it," Ikuya says, more forcefully. "When I didn't like something, I pushed back." He lowers his voice. "You saw me push back. I literally did it before the Invitational, remember?"

Hiyori winces at the reminder. "That can't have been the first time I pushed too far, though." 

"It was the first time I decided to fight you on something," Ikuya says firmly. "You let me have my way all the time. Just because we didn't fight, it doesn't mean I was a pushover up till then."

"I did things for you that you didn't want me to do," Hiyori says. He's tempted to start counting on his fingers, but there's too many things to count. "I decided what we'd do, I made you spend time with me, I…"

"You made decisions about my daily life I didn't want to make," Ikuya says. "Decisions I _couldn't_ make, sometimes. It's not like it was ever anything big—just stuff to get me through the day. They weren't always the ones I would've made, sure, but by myself I wouldn't have done anything, and that would've been worse."

Hiyori falls silent.

"All that time, you were taking care of me," Ikuya says. "I _let_ you. Most of the time I was doing it on purpose, and the rest I really didn't mind. If it didn't seem like I was happy about it, it's because I was too proud to admit that."

"You were happy?"

"Well." Ikuya lets go of Hiyori, runs a hand through his hair, the dark strands threatening to knot around his fingers before parting like seaweed tossed by the waves. "I was...happier than I would have been otherwise."

"That's good," Hiyori says, then frowns. "I think."

"It's good," Ikuya says softly. "Hiyori. You're the one who's unhappy right now, and I want you to tell me why."

"We talked about this," Hiyori says. "It's because I'm not good enough to be your friend."

"You are, though," Ikuya says. "That can't be it, because it isn't true. There must be another reason."

"Fine," Hiyori says. "You treat me like a team member and I don't know how to reciprocate."

Ikuya hums. "That could be." He blinks up at Hiyori, and his eyes are very serious. "Do you not like the way I've been treating you?"

Hiyori swallows, looks down. There's a silence that stretches too long.

"You don't," Ikuya murmurs. "Tell me why?"

"I…"

Hiyori doesn't know. He doesn't know, it's not even that he can't say it to Ikuya's face, or he can't find the right words, he literally can't get the concept to form fully in his head. It isn't happening. Not while Ikuya is in the room, and probably not when he's out of it, either.

"You treat me a lot of ways," he says, finally, and gestures between them. "This…this is new."

"Is this something you don't like?"

"…No." He has to roll the word around in his mouth before it'll come out, weighing the truth of it. "I feel guilty about it, but I don't dislike it." He bites his lip, glances at Ikuya out of the corner of his eye.

"You feel guilty," Ikuya says. "Why?"

"Because…I've worried you. And I don't want to make you feel…"

"Frightened? Helpless?" Ikuya's voice is low. "Like I'm going to lose you?"

Wordlessly, Hiyori nods.

Ikuya stands quietly and hops up onto the corner of the bed, rotating his shoulders so that their shoulders brush. "It's okay," he says, the words deliberate instead of light. "I know you're not doing it on purpose. You've been reassuring me this whole time that you're going to be fine." He sighs and leans closer, bumping him lightly. "Even when you're not fine, which is something I wish you wouldn't do. It makes it harder to believe the rest of the time, you know?"

"I'm sorry," Hiyori murmurs.

This time Ikuya elbows him, albeit gently. "What did I say about apologizing?"

At least he doesn't fall into the trap a second time. "Right."

"So you don't like worrying me," Ikuya says. "But this…" he gestures vaguely, echoing Hiyori, "this is okay?"

"Yeah," Hiyori says.

Ikuya looks at him for a long moment, head tilted slightly to one side. Slowly, he reaches out and puts an arm around Hiyori's shoulders, and tugs, until Hiyori has to scoot over and lean against him or be pulled over, because there's no way he's going to resist Ikuya touching him. 

"Is this okay?" Ikuya says.

Hiyori takes a deep, intentional breath, because it's hard to remember to breathe, somehow, with Ikuya's voice vibrating through both their bodies. There's a buzz to it he can feel on his skin, in his bones, and it makes his pulse jump.

"Yes," he whispers.

"Are you sure?" Ikuya asks.

He makes his voice firmer. "I'm sure."

Ikuya goes silent for a bit then, just holding him. "When I talk to you during practice," he says, finally, "sometimes you freeze up."

Ikuya can't properly see his face right now, but Hiyori feels him notice the way tension grips Hiyori's body. Just talking about it is already making him do the same thing. "Yes," he says.

"I do something in those moments that you don't like," Ikuya says. "What is it?"

"Not…exactly." Hiyori sighs, frustrated. "I don't know."

"Guess?" Ikuya sways them a little, side to side. "I can't figure it out, and I'd like to know what's going on."

"It's…" Hiyori sighs. "I don't know how to explain it. You're not doing anything wrong. It's like…you're out there, and you're smiling with everyone, and then you turn to me and say something and I just, I can't match the energy? And you're expecting me to, everyone's expecting me to." His hands are tightening in his lap again, and he feels Ikuya needing to adjust his arm on his back as his shoulders rise up, tight. "It's like…I'm a pretty easygoing guy, right? I try so hard to fit in, not to be a problem. But I can't just…ride conversations the way the rest of you do. I try and try to pretend I can, but…"

He falls silent, angry with himself.

"Do you think," Ikuya says, tentative, "that you're just being too hard on yourself? I don't think the others even notice, half the time. It's just that I know you."

Hiyori purses his lips, thinking it over. "Maybe," he says. "But…I don't think it can just be that. I've been this way as long as I can remember."

"Hm. I've never noticed anything like that, but I guess you'd know better than I would." Ikuya thinks it over. "Do you think the others are going to dislike you for it? That they'd get mad?"

"I don't know," Hiyori says. He hunches a little. "When I was a kid, people would just…ignore me, usually. Which was usually better than getting mad, but they could be…a little mean about it sometimes."

"Well, that's kids you're talking about," Ikuya points out. "We're all older now. None of the other team members have been giving you trouble, right?"

"No," Hiyori says.

"So…you're worried about annoying us, or upsetting us, or whatever, because you can't match the energy of the room," Ikuya says. "Everybody has their own stuff going on, though. You know that, right? No one expects you to act just like everybody else. You're you."

"I don't want to stick out," Hiyori says. "Not any more than I can help." He rubs roughly at his forehead. "It's not just because it's you, if that helps. I'm already sensitive about it, so as soon as it starts to happen I get in my own head and it makes everything worse."

"A vicious cycle," Ikuya says softly.

Hiyori sighs, rueful. "Exactly."

"That sucks," Ikuya says, rocking them again. "But...you'll figure it out. I'll try to help, now that I know."

"I hate that it's a problem at all," Hiyori admits, and he's blushing again, because the words _I'll help_ send something shooting through him that he doesn't entirely want to admit to. Ikuya helps with things all the time, and always has, even when he was preoccupied; as soon as it catches his attention, nothing bothers him more than something that isn't being done right.

"You're shy," Ikuya says aloud, as if he's realizing it for the first time, and something about his tone makes the heat flooding Hiyori's face deepen.

"I guess," he mumbles.

"There's nothing wrong with being shy," Ikuya says. "It's not a bad thing." There's an edge of amusement in his voice, and Hiyori finds himself a little irritated, suddenly. Why is Ikuya laughing at him now?

"It feels pretty bad from where I'm standing," he mutters, and pulls at his forelock, leaning away.

He hadn't realized that there'd been a faint smile on Ikuya's face until it's suddenly gone. "I'm not making fun of you, Hiyori," he says, rubbing a hand down his arm. "I'm saying, you're being too hard on yourself. I'm shy too, you know? All the time."

Hiyori looks up at him and frowns. "It's different on you."

Ikuya gives him a skeptical look. "How is it different?"

"You're...cool," Hiyori says, and it feels a little silly saying it aloud, only because it's obvious. "I mean, of course you are, you're more than just cool, but I mean, that's the vibe you give off. You do mysterious well."

 _And a bunch of other things,_ he doesn't add. Pretty, distant, melancholy, beautiful. Ikuya probably doesn't want to be called those things to his face, and Hiyori would hate for the spell of this moment to be broken.

Ikuya scoffs. "And you're not mysterious?" 

"Not…really?" _I'm a clown,_ Hiyori doesn't say. _I'm a weak joke to get people to look away, to underestimate me._

"You are, trust me," Ikuya says. "Maybe it's a different sort of mysterious, but it's really hard to tell what you're thinking."

Hiyori frowns at him.

"You are literally doing it right now," Ikuya says, and then it's all Hiyori can do not to go cross-eyed when he pokes him in the forehead, right between his eyebrows, just over the bridge of his glasses.

"I'm weird," Hiyori says. "That's not the same as mysterious."

Ikuya frowns now, too. "You know, now that you've brought it up again…I can't tell if you're complimenting yourself or putting yourself down when you say that."

Hiyori shrugs.

"You're embarrassed about it?" Ikuya says.

"Not…really?" Hiyori hunches in on himself. "But your mysteriousness is definitely cooler than my weirdness."

"I think you're mysterious, too."

Hiyori stares at him.

"You're…" Ikuya pauses, weighing his words carefully, but his expression is sure. "Talking to you is like talking to a mirror, sometimes. Everything is about me."

Hiyori shuts up, because this has become something important, so it probably doesn't matter right this moment that they've shifted topics. How he is with Ikuya and how he is with the rest of the world are two entirely different things, but both are important. How they are together is something they really need to talk about, have needed to talk about for years.

"I don't know if you do it on purpose," Ikuya says. "It seems like a habit for you, at this point. And I know I've done things that made it easier to do all the time. I know I'm self-centered and I get obsessed with things and I'm not good at paying attention to the people around me. I get that."

The fact that Ikuya is sitting here is proof that what he's saying isn't true, or at least proof that he's improved greatly. Hiyori will get back to reminding Ikuya of that when it's not flying directly in the face of Ikuya's constructive criticism.

"But we need to find a way to make our conversations more...even, I guess," Ikuya says. "Compared to what you know about me, I really don't know much about you, or your life. I mean…you'll talk about your interests sometimes, or things that you enjoy, but you won't admit it when you're hurting. We're out of balance." He sighs. "It's frustrating."

Hiyori's voice is equally careful, and doesn't betray the fact that his voice is threatening to fail him. "Would you rather be frustrated? Or disappointed?"

"Disappointed," Ikuya says immediately. "But I won't be. I want to know about you, Hiyori."

"How do you know that?" Hiyori asks.

"I just do."

A sigh drags its way out of Hiyori's tight throat.

Ikuya turns away, partially breaking their embrace, but he grabs hold of Hiyori's wrist, squeezing. "Can you believe that?" he asks. "Please?"

"I…" Hiyori pauses. Ikuya is asking something of him, and the first thing he wants to do is say yes. But at the same time, he feels like he can't bring himself to, either. "I don't know," he says, instead.

"Then…" Ikuya pauses, thoughtful. "Hiyori. Do you believe that I care about you?"

Hiyori stares at him. There's heat rising in his face and he's not sure why. He'd been about to say _yes, of course_ and then his throat had tried to close completely.

"Y-yes," he manages, voice hoarse.

Ikuya tilts his head. "Really?" he asks. "Do you actually believe it?"

"I…I." Hiyori is grasping at straws, and he doesn't know why. "You've put up with me for all these years," he says. He tries to smile, but there's an edge of something unhappy in it and he's not sure where it's coming from. "That's more than anyone else has ever done. You look out for me. You literally saved my life. Of course you care."

The words don't seem to help, as Ikuya looks at him sadly, then pensively. Hiyori waits for Ikuya to say he doesn't believe it, that he knows Hiyori's ungrateful and selfish, greedy for wanting more than he already has.

Thankfully, he doesn't. "How do you think I know that you care about me?" Ikuya says finally.

Hiyori blushes. "I…um. Are you talking about the part where I mother-hen you? Because I think neither of us would be comfortable with you doing—"

"No," Ikuya says. "No, not that. I'm talking about the things that you say to me. And the way you say them."

"Oh. The, uh. The compliments?"

Ikuya smiles, then, and it's a different smile. It's slow, and gentle, and starts at the center of his mouth before working its way out to the corners. It's not the tight little tug at his lips that Hiyori is used to seeing. "That's part of it," he says, encouragingly, like he's tutoring Hiyori in something and Hiyori's starting to catch on. "But it's a lot of things." He pauses, and the smile drops a bit. "Imagine if you always did all those things for me, but never smiled at me the way you do. How do you think I'd feel?"

"I'd be even more overbearing than I sort of already am," Hiyori says. 

Ikuya purses his lips at him. "You're not overbearing," he says. "Or, okay, well. You're not as overbearing as you think you are."

"Thank you for staying honest," Hiyori murmurs, amused.

"Quit that," Ikuya says. "Listen. With the way you talk to me, and the way you smile, and all of it—the things you do—I couldn't possibly believe you don't care for me. Not once I started paying attention."

Hiyori is definitely bright red now. Bright red, and actually feeling a little sick, in a way that has nothing to do with his fever. "You don't have to act the way I do," he says. "I'm weird, remember?"

_I'm…_

But he still can't say it, not even in his head. Memories of fists and shouts ring in his head for a long, long moment, and he realizes that Ikuya has said something and he's missed it.

"Sorry," he says, gentle, "what was that?"

Ikuya stares at him. "Are you feeling all right?" he asks.

"Yes," Hiyori says immediately, "I'm fine. But what were you saying?"

"That you're _not_ weird," Ikuya says. "And that I wish you'd quit putting yourself down like that. But…" He sighs, and shakes his head. "I spent so many years trying to be cool, and aloof, and mysterious. And…I'm a little standoffish, even now. I don't always…I'm not…" He frowns at the sheets, running his fingers along a fold beside Hiyori's knee. "I guess I get embarrassed too. You're always so nice, and I'm not…" He frowns, and clears his throat. "I don't know when I stopped being…affectionate. But it's like I forgot how to after middle school, and I keep losing it when I try to find it again." 

"We have a dynamic," Hiyori says immediately, because he knows what Ikuya's talking about even if Ikuya isn't saying it out loud. He's plenty affectionate with Haru and the others; he's not quite as affectionate with Hiyori, or at least won't initiate the same kinds of affection. The kindest interpretation there is habit, and Hiyori's more than prepared to be kind. "That's not your fault."

"I want to change it," Ikuya says. "I want to be nice to you the way you are to me." He pauses, strokes the bedspread with three fingers. Looks up at Hiyori, eyes unsure. "Or…I want to try harder, anyway. Is that okay?"

Hiyori thinks it over. He thinks about the way he freezes when Ikuya does something he doesn't expect, and he thinks about whether it's worth it to stop him when he wants to try something. And, reluctantly, he considers the warm shivers that go through him in the moments when he succeeds at accepting Ikuya's….

Is "affection" the right word? It seems like a slightly dangerous one under the circumstances, but it is one Ikuya himself has just used.

"Hiyori," Ikuya says, shaking him from his thoughts. "Let me prove that I care about you. I really, really want you to believe that I do."

That's the heart of it, isn't it? Hiyori takes a deep breath. "I know that you do," he says, evenly. "You can if you really want to, though. I just...I can't promise that I'll react the way you want, or how you expect."

"That's okay," Ikuya says. He looks so relieved, Hiyori realizes, surprised. "That's fine. That's all I'm asking."

He pauses, and looks Hiyori over for a long moment. Hiyori guesses that the conversation is over, tries to act like it hasn't left him fidgety and more than a little confused.

(There's some other stuff, too—things he needs to think about when Ikuya isn't in the room. He does his best to shove that down; it's not like he hasn't had years of practice.)

He's wrong, though, because Ikuya just keeps pressing forward. "Does that mean that I can ask you how you're doing now? For real, this time?"

Hiyori's breath catches. He opens his mouth, gets stuck, closes it. "I guess it does," he says.

"It's fine if you don't want to talk about it," Ikuya says. "But…you have a habit of shutting me out when you're hurting, and I don't like it."

He does, doesn't he? And he's been far too transparent for Ikuya not to have picked up on that habit. But Ikuya's not running away, he doesn't see it as a warning sign; in fact, he looks so earnest it's almost eager. 

(He can't talk about _that_ yet. He just can't, so he'll talk about something else.) 

"I'm all right now, though," he says, shrugging.

"I wanted to ask about the hospital," Ikuya says. "What happened after they took you away. Do you remember?"

"Some." Hiyori tries to focus his mind back, frowns. "Mostly random flashes."

"Can you tell me?" Ikuya asks.

Hiyori tries. The last thing he remembered was asking Ikuya for water, and then trying to focus on the form. He'd decided that he couldn't figure it out on his own, that he needed to ask a staff member for help, and soon—but when he'd stood up to find someone, everything faded out, and the next thing he knew he was lying on a gurney, alone without his glasses and with something in his arm and over his face.

He'd passed out again pretty soon after that, and then woke up disoriented, with little idea of how he'd gotten where he was. He'd answered questions to the best of his ability, waited for a polite opening to ask them where he was, and for his glasses and his phone.

As soon as he'd gotten the latter, he'd thought back to the last thing he'd remembered, and called Ikuya.

"What was that about?" Ikuya says, when he's explained that far.

"Honestly, I was going to ask you that," Hiyori says. "You…sounded really angry, all of a sudden. I didn't understand it."

Ikuya frowns, folds his hands together. "How lucid even were you, at that point?" he asks.

He thinks back. He can think of a few of the individual things Ikuya said, but mainly a dull sense of confusion, desperation driven by his tone. "Maybe not that much," Hiyori admits.

Hiyori is coming to recognize that particular tangling of Ikuya's brow; it's guilt, he's pretty sure. "You…said that you didn't want to talk to me about how you were feeling," he says.

"You were criticizing me for worrying about you," Hiyori says, testing out the words. He looks to Ikuya for confirmation. "Is that right? I'm not sure I'm remembering correctly."

"I…was," Ikuya says. "There was some other stuff, but that was part of it."

"I couldn't turn it off." Hiyori swallows. "I didn't know how to turn it off, and I didn't have the energy to figure it out. I didn't want you to be mad."

"I wanted you to stop trying so hard," Ikuya says. "You sounded so worn out, I thought you were overexerting yourself for my sake."

"I…guess I might've been." 

There's a silence for a moment. "Is that…is that why you said you'd stay away?" Hiyori asks.

"If I thought you'd hurt yourself for me, then I would," Ikuya says. "I still would. I'm not sure this conversation isn't too much."

"I'm okay," Hiyori says immediately, and then again, softer, "I'm okay."

"Are you? Hiyori."

Ikuya, still and careful up until now, moves. He moves until he's kneeling on one leg on the side of Hiyori's bed, the arm that had been around Hiyori's shoulder now touching his jaw, turning his face gently until they're facing each other directly, less than a foot apart.

"I asked you back then," Ikuya says, "and I'm asking again now, because you just told me you're okay and I'm going to believe you until you tell me otherwise. What do you want, Hiyori?"

Hiyori wets his lips—small motions, aware of Ikuya currently taking in every millimeter of movement. "Can you be a little more specific?"

"What do you want? What are you thinking? You're always talking about me, looking after me, asking me for my opinion. I want to know yours." Ikuya's head tilts forward, bringing their foreheads closer together. "I can't be a good friend to you if I'm in the dark. And I'm not smart, I can't read you. I don't know what you're thinking unless you tell me. We can't find a balance between us if don't understand eachother."

Hiyori frowns.

Ikuya sighs, sounding impatient. "Am I doing it again? We're here right now, talking, because _I_ wanted to talk. I'm not sure whether it's because you do, too."

"I made you go through Makoto," Hiyori offers, because really, who would ever accuse Ikuya of bossing him around?

"Because I wanted this conversation to happen. Hiyori," And now Ikuya's biting his lips, looking worried, "I'm worried about you. You were so weak just a few days ago, and you're still in the hospital, and right now…" He sighs. "I just finished saying I can't read you, so forgive me if I get this wrong, but…you look scared. You look scared every time I try to get to know you." And he frowns. "But every time I try to pull back, to not come on as strong, to give you space, we just go back to the way things were. Or you pull away from me altogether, and that's not what I want. Unless…unless you do."

"You mean the part where I've been trying to bother you less," Hiyori says, as it dawns on him. "Giving you space."

"Don't get me wrong, space isn't always a bad thing," Ikuya says, quickly. "Kisumi was saying you were great with that student group that came through, and I know you've been reading more. We don't have to go everywhere together or like the same things."

"Yeah," Hiyori says.

"I just…" Ikuya frowns. "I feel like if I invited you somewhere, you wouldn't feel like you could say no. Like the party. So I don't." His thumb twitches against Hiyori's jawbone, a reminder that it's still there, and Hiyori wonders why Ikuya is bothering. Does he think Hiyori will run away? "And then, if you don't either…"

"We drift apart," Hiyori says.

Ikuya nods. "Exactly. Maybe…more than we want to." He frowns, glance darting away. "More than I want to."

"I don't..." Hiyori begins, and bites his lip. Ikuya looks at him, long and hard, and Hiyori draws his resolve from somewhere. "I'm not going anywhere," he promises, voice softer. "As long as you want me, I'll be by your side, Ikuya. I _promise_." 

Ikuya shakes his head. "As long as I...? Hiyori, I don't know how to make you believe that _I want you to stick around_. Tell me what I can say to convince you. Please." 

Ikuya's hand falls on top of Hiyori's, where he's keeping his weight up on the bed. The narrow fingers clamp down on the back of his hand, partially circling the wrist. It feels like a grip he would have a hard time escaping, if he wanted to. 

(He doesn't want to.) 

When Hiyori looks up from the hand, Ikuya is leaning forward, so close his hair threatens to brush against Hiyori's face. He has a terribly earnest expression on his face, and his eyes are huge and dark and suck Hiyori in like whirlpools. He couldn't look away if he tried. He can feel Ikuya's breath, ever so faintly, tracing his collarbones where his shirt's left them exposed. He has a bizarre sensation of falling out of his body, and simultaneously of being pulled toward Ikuya with inexorable force. 

His heart is thudding in his chest so hard that he swears Ikuya should be able to hear it, even though he's thankfully no longer hooked up to a heart monitor. His eyes flicker down to Ikuya's lips as his tongue flashes out briefly, wetting them. It's an uncharacteristic gesture for him, or at least at the moment Hiyori can't remember ever seeing it. He wrenches his gaze away, trying to meet Ikuya's eyes again before he loses the nerve to, before he leans forward and just...

There's something in Ikuya's eyes. Hesitation, and then a split second later Hiyori realizes that Ikuya had been leaning forward, because he's stopped short. His eyes start to go wide, mouth opening in a look of surprise, or confusion—

Hiyori lunges forward and wraps Ikuya in an embrace, tight and desperate. 

He somehow always expects Ikuya to be bigger, and yet they fit together perfectly. Hiyori can feel Ikuya breathe, feel the expansion of his ribs against his own torso, under his arms. "Hiyori?" he asks, slightly breathless, and Hiyori bites back a gasp of his own. 

"I—" Hiyori bites off what he was going to say, even though it physically hurts. "I'm not going anywhere, Ikuya. Even if you sent me away, I wouldn't want to go. I _promise,_ okay? I promise." 

Ikuya's grip on him tightens, and being hugged by him feels incredible—mostly good, indescribably good, affection and embarrassment and wonder and relief, but with an awful terror gripping the pit of his stomach, guilt and confusion strong enough to make him swallow against tingling nausea. "I promise, too, Hiyori. You're important, all right? You're so...so important to me." 

Hiyori shudders, and doesn't know if it's for the right or wrong reasons. He's not even sure what the right or wrong feelings are, anymore. He doesn't know if he's done the right thing, stopping what he thought might be about to happen. 

On the one hand, if it had become what he'd wanted, it would have been far too much far too fast, something they've never talked about. Something he's never actually admitted to himself that he wanted until the exact moment it seemed like it could potentially happen. On the other...is it okay for him to be this close to Ikuya right now, with what he can't quite stop himself from wishing for? 

No. It's okay. It _has_ to be okay. Ikuya needs it to be okay, and right now, honestly, Hiyori does too. 

So he sits and he shivers a bit in Ikuya's arms, soaking up the affection and the attention and trying to offer comfort in return. This is more than he'd ever hoped for. He would have sworn, not so long ago, that this was beyond anything could have ever wanted. 

It's enough. It has to be enough. 

Hiyori holds on. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Look, this is still progress, and I'm gonna get these two together if it kills me. They'll get there. 
> 
> Thank you so much for sticking with this story. Please do your best to stay safe and healthy. See you next week. <3


	29. Levees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, friends of friends don't quite see eye to eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No particular warnings this chapter. Huge thanks to my beta for noticing stuff about canon I definitely would not have caught. Any remaining errors are on me.

Soon enough, Hiyori is out of intensive care and in a shared room, which means visiting him gets more complicated. 

Before, Ikuya had been able to visit basically any time, though he'd usually tried to schedule around Hiyori's parents. They weren't terrible, but he was more used to spending time with just Hiyori, and figured that they probably wanted some family time with their son. They'd been very accommodating about Ikuya's schedule, whether because they were busy themselves or because they figured he'd help Hiyori keep up with his schoolwork. 

Or just because they were being nice to him. They certainly approved of him more than Ikuya would've expected. He's not sure he can say quite the same thing about them, unfortunately. Not when he sees how uptight Hiyori is around them sometimes, especially around his mother. 

He's not sure whether he would've noticed the signs, before, if he'd seen them together when Hiyori was younger. Hiyori doesn't act like Ikuya did, doesn’t lash out or complain or even sulk. Instead, he gets quiet and nervous. He has a very particular sort of smile that Ikuya is learning to be very suspicious of, and with his parents, it's like that smile's been firmly stitched in place, as polite and distant as it is loving. 

The trouble is, they don't seem to _notice._ It makes him wonder when the last time was that they saw Hiyori the way Ikuya's seen him. Surely, in Hiyori's time in the hospital, they would've seen cracks in the façade? 

But no, as far as Ikuya can tell, they're just happy that Hiyori has continued to recover. Ikuya's even caught the tail end of hints and arguments that Hiyori's trying to convince them to go back to America, though they'd said they were planning to stay through Christmas at least. And when Hiyori's cleared to go to the visiting area to receive guests, their visits get shorter, rather than longer. 

Ikuya, meanwhile, gets asked by Kisumi immediately about when they can go visit. Ikuya agrees that they should set up a time, and then Makoto asks if he can come too, so that before Ikuya quite realizes what's happening, he's taking all his friends to see Hiyori. 

The result is...not a disaster, thankfully. It's a little more lively than Ikuya would have hoped for—Asahi's a bit much for Hiyori on the best of days, and Hiyori still doesn't seem to be used to the way that Ikuya and Asahi argue—but Makoto is as warm and Haru as placid as always, and the time passes reasonably well. 

The next thing that Ikuya knows, though, Kisumi is badgering Hiyori about getting some of their other friends over to visit, including people whose names Ikuya's never even heard before. Hiyori agrees easily enough, though his eyes go a little wide sometimes and he tries to convince Kisumi not to bring everyone at once, agreeing on shifts instead. 

At the end of the time they decided on, Ikuya sees the others out, and then comes back to walk Hiyori back to his room. He looks a little wilted around the edges, but not much more than he would after a long day. 

They're headed back to a room with other patients in it, which bothers Ikuya more than it seems like it should. It's a sign that Hiyori's almost better, and will be out soon, but he misses the privacy of longer stretches of time alone with him. He's not quite sure why—the comfort of familiarity, maybe; he's used to having Hiyori to himself fairly regularly. 

"So...the book club," he says, aware that they're short on time. "Do you want me to be around for that, or...?" 

"If you want," Hiyori says immediately. "You don't have to, though." 

"Well, I was thinking of coming a little before then so we could study," Ikuya says, trying to keep his tone casual. "If you don't mind, that is." 

"Sure," Hiyori says, a little too fast. "And then, if you'd rather leave when they get here, you can." 

Ikuya looks at him, considering. "...Do you not want me to be there?" 

"No!" Hiyori says. "They're just...they can be..." He shrugs. "I don't think you have very much in common." 

"...Yeah, you're probably right." Ikuya shrugs. "I'll leave you to it, then." 

"Okay." Hiyori smiles at him, grateful and apologetic with just a hint of that nervousness Ikuya’s learning to look out for. Ikuya tries his best to look reassuring in return. 

He doesn’t want to think too much of it—he'd said before that it was fine for him and Hiyori to have different interests and friends, and he'd meant it. He wishes he didn't feel like he's lost most of his time with Hiyori, though. He'd thought they were finally...something, getting closer, reaching an understanding, and they do still seem to be, but it feels like it's slowed down again. 

He doesn't know what, exactly, he's missing. They're close—in some ways, closer than ever. A lot of the time, when Hiyori smiles, it's clear he means it, that he's just enjoying Ikuya's company. Hiyori unwound from worry feels almost like a novelty, one that Ikuya can't wait to get used to. But he still feels like he wants to get closer. He's not entirely sure how that can happen, but he hopes that once Hiyori's out of the hospital and he has him to himself again, it might be a little easier. 

* * *

Ikuya's the one to bring the book club upstairs when they visit, because it turns out Kisumi doesn't come along with them—he's planning to visit with the basketball club instead. The group's led by Sam, which Ikuya doesn't like but isn't surprised by. It's about half a dozen people speaking to each other in a dizzying mix of Japanese and English. Sam's carrying a large, glossy-covered book under one arm, and gives Ikuya a smile with just a little bit too much bite in it. 

He leads them to the visitors’ area, explains the rules, and then goes to get Hiyori. He looks a little more nervous than Ikuya would like, and he's tempted to say that it isn't too late to back out. But he swings himself out of bed anyway, clearly trying his best not to be nervous, and Ikuya isn't sure whether the impulse comes from actual concern or from jealousy, so he lets it lie. 

When Hiyori steps into the visitors' area and the others greet him enthusiastically, his shoulders go up around his ears as he grins. He lets himself be steered into one of the chairs and surrounded by his friends. Sam and one of the others start chattering at him in rapid English, telling him off for not looking after himself better. One of the girls makes a joke that Ikuya can't quite catch, and Hiyori laughs. 

Ikuya can't help but stare as the tension bleeds from his back and he leans forward, talking to a few people at once, then examining the book Sam passes his way. These people are as loud as Ikuya's friends had been, and seemingly even rowdier, but amongst them Hiyori looks almost completely comfortable.

There's a moment when his gaze slides over to Ikuya, and he goes tense again, face doing something complicated. Ikuya gives him a smile and a little wave and makes his way out before he can get in the way of things. He goes back downstairs and goes to sit in one of the waiting areas. No one bothers him there, and it's an easy way to know when the others have decided to leave. 

It's not that he takes it personally, because he doesn't—even though Hiyori's tried his best, there are moments when Ikuya gets stressed trying to help him fit into the group, too. He kind of wishes he could fit in, but Sam already doesn't like him and Hiyori doesn't seem to think he'd get along with the rest of them, either. Ikuya's willing to trust his judgment.

The sound of laughter spills out of the stairwell after about an hour or so—Ikuya hasn't been keeping track—and the others spot him on the way out. 

One of the girls splits off from the group to come over to him. She looks Japanese, and when she speaks, he can guess she isn't one of the exchange students. "Thanks for showing us where to go. Sorry if we put you out—you didn't have to wait down here." 

"No, it's okay," he says. "I'm glad Hiyori's got people coming to visit him. Thanks for coming today." 

She smiles at him, nods, and rejoins the group. "See you, Kirishima-kun." 

He waves. He has no idea what her name is, and it's a little odd to realize these people probably know more about Ikuya than he does about them. 

The doors are closing behind them when Ikuya realizes that Sam isn't with them. He'd been about to pack his textbooks up and head back upstairs, but that gives him pause. He settles back in, slips his headphones on, and tells himself that he can wait downstairs a bit longer. 

* * *

It ends up being more than a bit, though. 

Ikuya tries not to be restless, but his impatience wins out. It feels like he's been waiting around longer than he's even been with Hiyori today, and there isn't that much longer till visiting hours end. He can at least go peek to make sure Sam didn't leave by another exit or something, right? 

So he goes up, quietly, intending just to peek and see if Sam's left—or maybe if he hasn't, to give him a gentle hint. 

On the other side of the doorway into the room, he's stopped by a serious-sounding conversation. He leans against the wall out of sight, pulling out his phone as an excuse but not looking at it as he listens.

"You're letting him push you, aren’t you?" Sam's voice comes muffled through the wall.

Ikuya freezes. He hadn't heard Sam sound this strident, even to Ikuya's face, and it's clearer than ever that Sam doesn't like him very much.

Hiyori's voice is harder to hear, but not by much. "It's not like that."

"Isn't it?" A pause. "Hiyori. You're in the _hospital_. Now, I'm just going to go out on a limb here, but let me guess—Kirishima didn't even notice something was wrong until it affected his precious swim practice."

There's a long silence, broken by a murmur that Ikuya can't catch. Ikuya's fingers brush the fabric above the spot where his heart seems to have twisted in his chest. He almost wants to burst in and defend himself, but how can he? Sam is right, if only technically.

But Hiyori can't possibly see things that way...can he?

"Bull _shit_ he isn't," Sam says next. "I'm not saying he doesn't care about you—"

"He literally saved my life," Hiyori's voice comes through the door, but he doesn't sound angry; he sounds _tired._ It's almost more dismaying than Sam's words in the first place.

"Sure, he helped with this mess, but without him would you have gotten into it in the first place?" Sam says. "Look at you. You're the type to run yourself ragged. You said yourself you were having trouble balancing everything, and if this is where you've ended up—"

Hiyori's voice overrides him, sharp and clear but not particularly loud. "So what do you call what _you're_ doing? I never had a problem before you and your friends came along, wanting so much of my time."

Ikuya's jaw falls open, and he listens intently to the silence.

"That was too much," Hiyori says finally, tone dropping back into something patient. Luckily Ikuya has drifted practically to the doorframe, or he might not be able to catch it. "I'm sorry. The truth is that it's neither of your faults; it's mine."

"But..." Sam says, low, uncertain. Hiyori takes over again.

"You're within your rights to ask for my time," he says. "Really, you're doing me a favor and we both know it. The same is true of Ikuya." Ikuya can catch the barest hint of a sigh. "The thing is, I've never had two different people that wanted me around at the same time before. I don't know how to balance it." A half-laugh, and the edge of the next words sends Ikuya's hand to the door handle, regardless of what else he might want.

"I was so scared of messing it up, I couldn't bear it."

"Hiyori," Ikuya says aloud, but neither of them hear him. Or at least, he doesn’t think so; he isn't sure, but it takes both Sam and Hiyori a moment to notice him.

He doesn't move, feeling like his feet have sunk into the tile. Hiyori's eyes are swimming and red-rimmed; it's not so much the redness itself that shows, but the way the gold-green of his eyes stands out so sharply.

"Hiyori," Ikuya says again, and draws closer. He gives Sam a look, acknowledging his presence, but moves closer to Hiyori all the same, breaking whatever invisible barrier seems to have been keeping him back. "I'm sorry."

"Ikuya..." Hiyori's staring up at him like he's lost the thread of the conversation.

"I didn't realize,” Ikuya begins, and then realizes he’s been speaking Japanese, and switches, with a darting glance at Sam. He’s staring at Ikuya, one hand outstretched like he’d been thinking of comforting Hiyori, too. “I didn’t know you were under so much pressure," Ikuya says. "...I don't think Sam did, either."

He gives Sam a look, sizing him up, and Sam does the same. It's just out of Hiyori's view, which might be for the best under the circumstances.

"You're right," Sam says, finally. "I suspected; I didn't know how you were feeling, though."

"Neither of you are mind-readers," Hiyori says. His hand lies loosely curled on his thigh; he startles a bit when Ikuya places his hand over it, twitches it weakly. Ikuya pulls back, thinking the touch was unwelcome, but Hiyori's hand simply turns over, fingers reaching to twine with his own. Ikuya's not sure who initiated this gesture now, but Hiyori's hand is only a little stiff in his, and warm without being feverish. "I'm just not good at communicating."

"That's not it," Ikuya disagrees, at the same moment that Sam makes a face. 

"Yeah," Sam says. "You're very thoughtful, but you don't share very much."

Hiyori laughs, a little wry, a little bitter. "I guess that's true."

Ikuya lowers his voice. "And if you needed help with time management," he mutters, switching briefly to Japanese, squeezing Hiyori's hand, "you could have _asked._ "

Hiyori looks away. "I didn't want to admit to all my priorities," he says lightly, to both of them.

"I want to know them, though." Ikuya looks over at Sam, now more carefully neutral, and tries for a peace offering. "This international group. It matters to you a lot, right?"

Sam sits a bit straighter, tilting around Ikuya so he can get a better look at Hiyori. "We kind of take advantage of you," he admits. "It's useful to have people that are bilingual, especially on the Japanese side."

Ikuya benefited from Hiyori's language abilities for years; he can't really fault Sam for that, and while it's a little irksome to hear said in so many words, at least Sam's willing to admit it.

"That's true," Hiyori allows. "I know that it helps when I'm around, so it's hard not to feel some...obligation, I guess? Not a lot. It's nice to be useful. But..." He takes a slow breath. "Well...Swimming comes first. I think it has to."

"Do you want it to?" Sam asks, soft, and Ikuya is briefly, irrationally grateful. The question would sound different coming from him, after all, but it's one he desperately wants the answer to.

"I...honestly, I'm still figuring it out," Hiyori says. As he speaks, his grip on Ikuya's hand becomes almost painfully tight, like he's begging him not to leave. Ikuya is frozen. "I've been having trouble with my performance lately, and I don't know how to fix it. But...I don't want to give up. And I want to keep up with everyone else. So...yes, I want swimming to be my top priority."

"You won't get very far if your goal is just to keep up with everyone," Ikuya says, quietly. He doesn't look either of them in the eye. It feels harsh to say here, in a hospital room, and yet it needs to be said.

"I know," Hiyori says, equally quiet. "That's why I have a lot to work on."

Sam looks between them, lips pursed, and then rubs at his forehead. "I don't get you sports types at all," he mumbles.

Hiyori laughs. "That's okay. I can tell you're trying," he says, and the tension in the room eases.

"But you're not going to go back to practice till you feel better?" Sam says, apparently still needing to double-check, and Ikuya and Hiyori both nod firmly. "And I don't want you to push yourself to come to our stuff, either."

"Sure," Hiyori says easily. "I'm sorry I'll be missing meetings, though." He squeezes Ikuya's hand again as he says this, so even though the words were aimed at Sam, Ikuya knows he meant them for both of them.

"You really don't need to worry about that right now," Ikuya tells him quietly.

"What we do need to worry about is making sure we don't flood you with visitors, maybe," Sam says, looking thoughtful. "Our little group is especially worried, Hiyori."

Ikuya just catches the tail-end of an exchange of glances between Sam and Hiyori; there's something pleading in Hiyori's face, something sympathetic in Sam's, and he doesn't know how to interpret it at all. He's not even sure he has the emotions right, but even after all the talking-out they've done, he gets the feeling there's something he still doesn't know. Maybe even a few things.

"We can...figure out a schedule for visiting," Ikuya says. "If you don’t want a lot of people coming at once."

Hiyori looks awkward. "That might be a good idea. Some of the international students have...pretty strong personalities."

Ikuya raises an eyebrow in Sam's direction. "Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me."

Sam gives Ikuya a fantastically innocent _Who, me?_ face that nobody in the room buys for a second, except perhaps Sam.

"I'll get in touch with you, then," Ikuya says to him, rather than touching that implication with a ten-foot pole. (If Sam doesn't know how he comes across, Ikuya figures, literally anyone else would be a better choice to tell him.)

"Oh," Sam says, sounding pleased, "okay."

"Wait..." Hiyori begins, looking confused.

Ikuya gives him a dry look and cuts him off. "I'm not letting you plan everything by yourself, not with what you just said. Worrying too much about all this is how you got here in the first place."

Hiyori sighs. "You know, technically I got sick. I didn't exactly collapse from overwork or anything."

"Pushing yourself didn't help."

Hiyori frowns slightly, stubborn and unconvinced. "Maybe."

Ikuya throws Sam a look that he hopes gets across _You see what I have to deal with?_

Sam, though, just looks slightly pained. "No, Kirishima has a point," he says, and Ikuya tries not to twitch at the use of his surname in English. He’s not used to hearing it used to his face, and wonders whether Sam’s trying to be polite, or trying to put Ikuya off. 

"What do you mean?" Hiyori asks. 

"It's just..." Sam twists his hands together. "The fact that it got bad this time is technically a coincidence, but...I know it isn't really my place to say this, but I don't think you're concerned enough with your own welfare."

" _Thank_ you," Ikuya says to Sam, without thinking. Sam looks a little bit surprised at his vehemence, staring at him. Hiyori stares at both of them, wide-eyed, and then makes a pained little smile.

"You're right," he answers. "I'm sorry."

He's retreating into his shell, into a smile that tells Ikuya that they've gone too far. He doesn't want that to be happening, but he's not even sure what set it off, so he's not sure how to stop it.

"I was irresponsible," he says, nodding to both of them. "It won't happen again."

"That's..." Ikuya blows a sigh through his teeth, and finds himself glancing over at Sam.

Sam, face blank, stands and walks closer to Hiyori. Taking great care to choreograph his movements, he bends over slightly (probably further than he needs to with his height, even if Hiyori’s still sitting). He brings his hand down, in a distinctive position, directly in front of Hiyori's forehead.

And _flicks_.

"Ow," Hiyori says, apparently automatically. Of course he sat still for all of it, looking at Sam like he somehow hadn't been able to see that much coming. "What was that for?"

"For thinking we're not going to take responsibility," Sam says. "We're not saying you need to look after yourself _by_ yourself. We're saying you need to _tell us_ when you can't."

"I..." Hiyori says, and then shuts up. A rueful look crosses his face. "You’re right, I do need to get better at that."

"I'm not entirely clear on the situation," Sam says, quiet but relentless, "but what do you think would have happened this time, if Kirishima hadn't come looking for you?"

"I..." Hiyori's forehead wrinkles. "I'd have gotten to the doctor eventually."

"You hope, or you know?"

Ikuya can't speak. His head is wrapped up in the possibility, all too able to imagine what it could have been: if he'd left Hiyori by himself that night, or even for a day or more...

He'd have had to go to the administration, probably, when Hiyori wouldn't answer his door. And they'd unlock it, and who knows whether they would have let him inside, but sooner or later he would've seen the price he’d paid for waiting, and...

...And what would he have told Hiyori's _parents_?

"Hey. Kirishima?"

He'd tuned out of the conversation, apparently, because there's been a pause and Sam is looking at him with concern. He casts about for something to say that makes it slightly less obvious that he's missed something, and finds lands on the thing that's been bugging him.

"You don't have to call me that," he says. "Ikuya is fine."

Sam looks a bit taken aback by that, but unfortunately forges on a moment later. "Fine, Ikuya then. Are you okay? You look like something's wrong."

"I'm fine!" Ikuya says hurriedly. His gaze drifts over to Hiyori, who looks even more concerned than Sam is, but like he's trying to hide it. "I just got...distracted."

"That lecture was meant for me, you know," Hiyori says, with false lightness, but something behind his eyes is tight, staring fixed in his direction, and Ikuya knows he's been caught in his train of thought. "You did all the right things. It's fine."

"I know," Ikuya says, and has to physically swallow the words _What if I hadn't?_ This isn't _about_ him—it's about how Hiyori needs to take better care of himself so it doesn't matter if Ikuya manages to continue being a good friend or not. "You need more than one person to count on," he says, finally, because at least it's close to what he's honestly thinking, and he's known Hiyori for so long that anything less than honesty around him just feels strange. "It can't just be me. I'm not reliable enough."

"No one person can be," Sam says, steadily, but Hiyori gives Ikuya a sad look that says they're probably going to be having a conversation about Ikuya's self-esteem later. He'll stand by what he said. He definitely isn't a good enough person to be trusted with Hiyori's well-being, not yet, but even if they disagree on that at least they both know he shouldn't have to be.

Sam turns to Hiyori, continuing. "Which is why you need to get better about talking to more of us. Even when you're having a bad day. Especially then, really."

Hiyori nods, slowly. "I'll try."

"You could try talking to Emi sometime," Sam recommends, voice going softer. "She's a very good listening ear."

Hiyori's mouth twists, wry, but he hums in agreement.

Ikuya's words out of his own mouth startle him a bit: "Talk to Makoto."

Hiyori and Sam both glance at him, eyebrows raised.

"What?" Ikuya says. "He's a really good listener. And he already likes you."

"He's even nicer than Emi," Hiyori says, in an aside to Sam. "You'd probably like him. He's the gentle giant type."

"Ooh," Sam says, and there's almost a smirk on his face, but there's nothing teasing about it at all. There's something about the expression Ikuya almost recognizes, but he's distracted when Sam adds, "Oh, and Kisumi."

"Definitely Kisumi," Ikuya agrees immediately. 

"That's true," Hiyori says. "Okay, I’ll try."

"Good." Sam stretches his arms over his head, and Ikuya sizes him up out of habit. He’s not at all a build Ikuya’s used to seeing, that much is obvious even with clothes over his frame; there's a softness to him that Ikuya isn't used to seeing in boys their age, and he's small enough that to look thin he'd have to be waifish. He definitely isn't. "Hey, I'm sorry I made things so intense today. I've just..." He looks between the two of them. "Honestly, I've been worried."

"Yeah," Hiyori says, soft, but Ikuya finds himself asking, equally quietly, "About what?"

Sam makes a complicated face. "You," he says, but the way he looks between them Ikuya gets the feeling he doesn't just mean Hiyori. "This whole situation. I know we just met, and Hiyori's choices aren't any of my business, but...well."

"You're right," Ikuya says, and then tries to clarify, "about a lot of things. We both need to go easier on him, and he needs to go easier on himself." He glances over at Hiyori. "Right?"

"At least for a little while," Hiyori agrees. He turns to Sam. "But even though we just met, you're already going to all this trouble and doing so much for me. You really didn't have to."

Sam goes a little bit pink. "I wanted to," he says, and then shrugs. "You remind me a little bit of myself, when I was younger."

Ikuya frowns a bit at this—aren't they all the same age?—but Hiyori seems to take this at face value, and he's done enough of getting annoyed on Hiyori's behalf. It seems like there might be something he's missing.

"Either way," Hiyori says, sounding honest, "I do appreciate it. I may not be showing it very well, though."

"You're doing okay," Sam says. He turns to Ikuya. "And if we're all being a little too honest with each other, I want you to know: I don't like you very much, but that's not your fault."

There's silence in the room for a few seconds, while Ikuya sizes Sam up. Is he actually looking for a fight? It seems incredibly unlikely that he is, and yet Ikuya can't think of anything else to make of that statement.

"O- _kay_ ," Sam says, a moment later. "That was a little _too_ honest, and I've made it weird. You just...have a good friend, Ikuya. I'm kinda jealous."

Hiyori puts his head in his hands. "Come on. Please stop trying to make it better, and just go."

Sam and Ikuya break their stand-off and turn to look at Hiyori, shocked. He refuses to look at either of them. "You and Ikuya will get used to each other, or you won't,” he continues. “If you don't, we can get creative with scheduling. Please don't try to force it right now."

Under the exasperation, Ikuya is pretty sure he's hearing strain; and even if he didn't, it seems... _very_ rare for Hiyori to be so outspoken. He's likely either very upset or exhausted by their conversation. 

But Sam just chokes out an awkward laugh, an honest (if breezy) "Sorry, sorry," rolling off his lips, and he leaves while digging into his pocket for his phone, other hand waving behind him as he leaves the room. “Bye. See you later, Hiyori.” 

"Bye," Hiyori says, and then sighs and leans back, closing his eyes resting his head against the wall.

Ikuya waits for a few moments for his ears to adjust to the sudden silence of the room. He waits until he can hear the faint sounds of Hiyori's breath and the ticking clock on the opposite wall before he moves to sit down next to him.

Hiyori rolls his head until he’s looking in Ikuya’s direction, and Ikuya represses the urge to pull it down onto his shoulder. "I don't know whether I should apologize about him," he admits, sounding timid despite his listless position.

Ikuya shakes his head. "Don't."

Hiyori shuts his eyes again. "Okay."

* * *

Ikuya had meant to stay until visiting hours ended, but Hiyori really seems worn out, not able to hold much of a conversation and, though he might not admit it, definitely not in the mood for studying. It doesn’t take much to convince him to go back to his bed a little earlier than he would otherwise, and though Ikuya’s a little disappointed, he’s pretty sure he’s made the right decision. 

He accompanies Hiyori back to his room, makes sure he’s settled, and gets one of his books from his bag for him before saying his goodbyes. He’s on his way back downstairs when he turns a corner and sees a small shape out of place on a side hallway that appears to be otherwise empty. He might not have realized what—who—he was looking at, if the color of Sam’s hoodie hadn't already stuck in his mind. 

Sam's found an out-of-the-way bench and is just sitting alone in the hallway, bent all the way around one knee that's drawn up and out of his shoe to rest on the edge of his seat. There's no obvious sign that he's out of place, except his solitude and the fact that he's hiding his face, and Ikuya wonders for a long moment whether he should leave him be.

The small bundle shivers, and Ikuya looks up and down the halls and frowns. "Sam," he says finally.

Sam jumps and looks up. "Oh. Hey, Ikuya." The tip of his nose and the skin of his eyelids look pinker than usual.

“Are…” Ikuya bites back the first question that comes to mind, remembering who he’s talking to. “Do you need something?”

"I guess I’m a little lost," Sam admits, standing up gingerly. He wraps his arms around himself as he goes, trying to stand casually but shifting from foot to foot once he’s up. "I...don't know if I—I mean, which way is the bus stop?"

Ikuya blinks, wondering what Sam had been about to say. "Follow me," he says automatically, and continues down the hall to the waiting area.

Sam moves quietly enough that Ikuya has to check over his shoulder to see if he's still there, but he follows a step and a half behind Ikuya all the way through the ground floor waiting area and lobby, and stops at his elbow when they step outside the door. "Keep going that way," Ikuya says, pointing, "and then find the stop for bus 54. I don't know about the others, but I'm pretty sure that's one of the ones Kisumi mentioned, so that'll be the stop to start looking."

Sam smiles, wan. "Thanks." Up close, he really looks like he’s been crying. It makes something uncomfortable and guilty twist in Ikuya’s chest. 

Ikuya pauses, and then grimaces. "I'm sorry about how today went," he says. "If you need to stay around a little longer, then—"

Sam shakes his head sharply. "No, no, I'm good. Sorry." He re-folds his arms, crossing them high and tight against his chest. "I...am sorry about today too, though. You didn't deserve to have to deal with me."

Ikuya shrugs. _Probably not,_ he agrees privately, but it's hardly polite to say so. "I could've left anytime," he says instead.

"Yeah, but I put both of you in that situation, and I shouldn't have." Sam shakes his head. "It was dumb. I don't suppose I can ask you to forget about it? And maybe forget what we talked about before, too. I don't know."

Ikuya shrugs. "We don't have to talk about it again, if you don't want to."

Sam nods. "Good. That's for the best."

Ikuya watches him for a long moment. "...Do you have Kisumi or somebody's number? They could come get you."

"I can—" Sam's voice breaks. "Shit. I can take a bus, it's not...not a problem."

He scrubs at his face with the sleeve of his hoodie, and Ikuya decides he’s definitely right about the crying; Sam's eyes have gone red, the skin of his eyes splotchy, much too quickly for this to be the first time he’s broken down today.

"It's up to you," he says, "but Kisumi would probably come if you asked."

"Why are you being _nice_ to me?" Sam whines suddenly, and then sniffs. "I treated you like crap."

Ikuya frowns. When someone's this obviously upset, how else is he supposed to behave? He's not being nice, just decent. "You're upset," he says.

"So?" Sam sniffs. "Your best friend's in the hospital, you have bigger things to worry about."

"He's getting better," Ikuya says, by way of explanation. They're still standing just a short way from the hospital doors. "Do you still want a bus, or...?"

"Yeah," Sam says. "Okay, yeah, you're right. I can handle the bus, but I'll call someone to meet them on campus." He throws Ikuya a bitter grin. "You can stop worrying about me now."

"I'm just trying to help," Ikuya says. "I don't know what's up with you, that's all."

"More than you'd want to deal with, believe me," Sam says. "I just...doesn't all this _get_ to you?"

"All what?" Ikuya asks, but from the way his stomach drops, he thinks he might already know.

"Hiyori just almost..." Sam shook his head. "I know he's fine, and it's not my place to say, but...it's just a lot. I'm going to be fine, he's going to be fine. My brain is weird, I've got some other stuff going on. Baggage, you know?" He laughs, short and bitter. "It’s fine, it’s all old stuff. I’m really glad he’s going to be okay.” 

"Me too," he says.

"Yeah," Sam says, then shakes himself. "Thanks, Ikuya. Tell Hiyori...tell him thanks, as well."

"For what?" Ikuya asks.

There's naked relief in Sam's voice. "For just hanging in there. And for being patient with me. I appreciate it."

"Oh." Ikuya doesn't really know what to say to that. "Sure."

"Anyway." Sam raises one hand, and finally steps away, shoving his other hand into the pocket of his hoodie. "I bet we'll be seeing more of each other at some point. I'll try not to be as big of a dick then. See you around."

And then he's gone, only nodding at Ikuya's half-hearted wave before turning and going. He takes long, fast strides, eating up an impressive amount of distance as he heads towards the bus stop that Ikuya indicated.

* * *

Sam doesn't message Ikuya right away. But he does do it eventually, in mostly-correct Japanese even.

_sorry about before_ , reads the first message.

_I still kinda don't like you, but also I kinda wish I did_

_you seem like a very cool guy. And Hiyori's obv crazy about you_

I'm gonna try to be cool too, but I'm at a disadvantage, so please be patient with me

They're spread out over the space of a few minutes, after Ikuya's rolled up in bed, and they wake him from the beginning of a doze because he's forgotten to silence his phone. He stares uncomprehending at the messages for a few moments, trying to absorb the small flurry of contradictory statements, but finally gives up. He's tired, it's late, and he’s not in the mood to deal with whatever this is. So he just answers back, _It's fine_ , puts his phone on silent, rolls over, and goes to sleep.

He doesn't get around to checking for a reply from Sam till the next afternoon. It's just a silly-looking sticker he's never seen before.

Ikuya doesn't get what's going on, but not needing to pretend to like Sam is probably better than the alternative.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: keeping track of who's speaking their second language and simplifying what they say accordingly can get tricky! This story assumes that Hiyori, Ikuya, and Sam are all fairly (or really, probably _un_ fairly) fluent in their non-native language. 
> 
> Also, quick announcement: I've got a final project to finish for a class, and we're almost to the end of this particular arc and I have some planning to do. I'll be taking a **week-long hiatus** on this fic—so skipping next week's update. I'll be back with to updates as usual on Friday, August 21 (in at least one time zone, anyway). Thanks so much for your patience, and I'm really hoping the next chapter will be worth the wait!


	30. Drip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Please check the warnings for this chapter.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Content warning** for veiled and referenced queerphobia and bullying in this chapter. If you need a more specific idea of what happens, see the end notes. 
> 
> Anyway, welcome back! I finished up what needed finishing and I'm really happy to be back to posting again. It took a bit of effort to get this chapter where it needed to go, so I hope it turned out all right. Many thanks to my beta for helping me get it where I wanted it.

Hiyori slowly gets used to the tide of visitors. Oddly enough, it is easy at first, then gets harder.

The first people to come are Ikuya's friends—Makoto, Kisumi, Nanase, and Shiina. It's...lively, in a way that should put him on edge, but he feels oddly detached from it. Ikuya knows him, and Makoto is clever and kind, and the others aren't particularly pressured to talk to him, so it isn't so different from the other times they've hung out. It's almost like they're spending time with Ikuya rather than him. Maybe that should annoy him, but it's really more of a relief.

Even though they're a lot, in other words, they're easy on _him_ , and between that and his still low energy, it's easy enough to coast along for the ride.

The book club, when they come, is easier and harder.

Easier, because something in Hiyori's chest that he hadn't known was tight relaxes when they come in, even as his shyness has him bracing himself. It isn't everyone, thankfully; it's Sam and Emi and Tiff and a couple of others whose names Hiyori is (thankfully) almost completely sure of. There's a new person, this time, and Hiyori's given the name Masaki, no surname. He's Japanese, tall (except compared to Tiff) and the kind of slim that hints that he's not really into sports. He's also quiet, with hair that falls into his eyes; ironically, the nerves and discomfort radiating off him somehow make Hiyori feel more at ease. It's nice to know that he isn't the only one dealing with that, given the confidence of a lot of the others.

Sam promises to bring a copy of the book club’s next title the next time he visits, and the others argue about said book while trying to avoid spoilers for what they've read so far. The new boy chimes in, too—he speaks mostly Japanese, and Sam translates for him to Tiff, but he seems to do a decent job following the thread of conversation through both languages. Hiyori would like to get the chance to talk to him more directly at some point, but now isn't the time or place, so for now he participates and watches.

It's good to see Tiff and Emi again; if either of them is unsettled by a hospital setting, they're good at hiding it. Emi expresses concern, and Tiff is gruff about it but Hiyori gets the sense that she feels the same way. He's...not sure he deserves this level of friendship from them, but they seem to have adopted him, and he's perfectly happy with how it's ended up.

Sam is as difficult to pin down as he's always been. Playing a perfect coordinator, he's the one to drag Hiyori back into conversations half the time, and he plays translator as well. It's a busy combination, and he's chatty and a bit flighty, lighting up his corner of the room. But something about it seems...a little bit off, slightly grating, even if he's only trying to be cheerful.

Tiff will occasionally shoot him down, the verbal equivalent of a mother cat with a kitten when he gets too eager, and Sam laughs and goes along with it, uncomplaining. Emi goes through the motions of consoling him a couple times, but he doesn't really seem bothered.

Hiyori watches them in bemusement, sometimes losing the words of the conversation but holding onto the odd feeling that he understands what's going on, what they're doing. He's used to people being baffling, with surprising reactions to him and to the world that he can't guess at until they slap him in the face. But something about these people...he can't predict what they'll say, but when he watches and listens, the things they say and do feel like they make sense. It's a little scary, how at ease he feels around them sometimes.

Maybe this is what Ikuya felt for the first time as a child, with Nanase and the others. If so, it explains a great deal. No one could replace Ikuya for him, but it's still remarkable how fast these people have taken root in his heart. Even Masaki, who he's only just met, he already sees in a positive light just because of the affiliation.

He isn't sure he's going to be able to snag Sam at the end of the hangout, and indeed, Sam seems to be focused on guiding Masaki out instead.

And then Sam comes back, and things get worse.

Hiyori had thought that Sam seeming off had been his imagination, but when they're by themselves Sam goes quiet, and then starts to argue, harsher and more argumentative than Hiyori has ever heard him. He falls just short of criticizing Hiyori for what happened, latching onto Ikuya—and Hiyori's attachment to him—instead.

Of course, that isn't okay. If Sam had started in on Hiyori, he wouldn't have known how to react, would've been reluctant to defend himself—but he isn't going to let Sam blame Ikuya for this, not when Hiyori knew that he's done all of it himself. Ikuya only helped him, and Sam twisting Hiyori's...feelings about Ikuya to make the situation Ikuya's fault is just not fair.

Hiyori gets angry...and Ikuya saves him, again.

Watching them in the same room is uncomfortable, but at least it's an improvement on Sam's earlier arguing. Sam and Ikuya clearly respect each other, but want to show off their good sides as well. The part of Sam that Hiyori sensed behind the anger, that's cracking and upset, gets pushed back down again, to protect it from someone Sam trusts less than he does Hiyori.

Amazingly, it ends up helping. _They_ are able to help him, together, which means more to him than he can easily express. Actually, it's so overwhelming that he doesn't have the presence of mind to actually consider how he feels about it—he's about to panic, burst into tears, or both, guilt and gratitude and anxiety rushing through him in waves he doesn't know how to handle.

And then Sam leaves, and Ikuya stays to chat for a little while before walking Hiyori back to his room and leaving as well. He doesn't realize Ikuya had ended the visit early until several minutes after he's already gone.

He wonders whether he should send Sam a message, check in, but he's not sure what to say. Sam's been pretending to be fine, that much is obvious, and it's equally obvious that he's not. Normally, Hiyori would feel fine asking him what the problem is, but in this case...he's pretty sure it the problem is _himself_.

Sam's told him about his past and the friend he lost. Looking back, a lot of his advice seems to involve letting go of Ikuya, something he'd only doubled down after finding out Hiyori had been hospitalized. From the outside, Hiyori can see why Sam would draw the connection he apparently has, and why it would bother him so much.

If Sam's getting stressed out by Hiyori's situation, then maybe keeping some space from him would be the best move. It's hard to ignore the instinct to avoid irritating him, if at all possible.

But...he's not really sure that would help, either. He wants to be there for Sam if he needs him, wants Sam to know that he's not angry or suffering. He sleeps on it, and then decides he'd rather get in touch. He doesn't want Sam to think he's abandoning him, and if Sam finds that annoying, well, it wouldn't be the first time Hiyori's been annoying. Besides, this can be another way to show that Hiyori's really okay.

In his returning messages, Sam apologizes, and they're able to talk things out. Sam admits that he has some issues that make it hard for him to watch Hiyori suffer—especially for reasons that seem (from Sam's point of view, at least) to be avoidable. (Hiyori can understand _that_ all too well.) Sam seems to even come around on Ikuya, a bit. It's strange to see how suspicious he is of Ikuya; Hiyori suspects that even now, Sam is hiding the full extent of his disapproval for Hiyori's benefit. 

Sam asks if he can come visit again soon, and Hiyori feels obliged to check whether that will actually help him feel better or not. Sam promises it will, especially if Hiyori seems to be improving, so all Hiyori can do is agree. He's ready to set a time, but Sam tells him he'll ask Ikuya about it and blows him off when he tries to handle it. Apparently, neither of them had been kidding when they said they weren't going to leave scheduling visits to Hiyori.

...He feels a little guilty about that, but it does give him more time to read and study, and one less thing to worry about. It means he can exchange messages without having to think about logistics, which is also nice. He doesn't even have to tell Kisumi, who breezily messages him letting him know that a subset of the basketball circle will be coming in over the weekend.

Hiyori's nurses tell him that he might be let out of the hospital by the end of next week. By now, he's got enough energy to study for hours between his parents and other people visiting. Ikuya starts checking to make sure he's taking breaks, and reading for fun, since he doesn't really like broadcast TV and reading one of the only other leisure activities he's cleared for. He tries to get out of bed a few times a day to walk around, and a couple of the friendlier people in his ward strike up conversations with him. It's...nice. It feels like the weirdest vacation of Hiyori's life. 

Ikuya lets him know when visitors are coming, and eventually sets up a calendar that Hiyori can check. He's very meticulous about it. It's cute, but it also takes more of a load off of Hiyori's mind than he'd been expecting.

Ikuya doesn't get annoyed with him when he asks about Ikuya's schedule, either. Apparently, he's eating well and regularly, and getting more sleep than he has been. Hiyori's glad that Ikuya lets him ask about those things, and gives him answers; not knowing probably wouldn't be enough to stop him from worrying. Still, he's trying to worry less, for both their sakes.

He still worries sometimes, though—not even about Ikuya necessarily, just about the whole situation. He worries that he should be worrying _more_ , actually. He's so used to carrying everything, being constantly on the lookout for the people around him. He's never had this much time to think about himself around other people; taking care of himself meant being _by_ himself. It's hard to shake the conviction that it's only because he finally showed weakness that other people are being considerate. It's harder not to believe that he won't suffer for this later—that he's somehow faked all of this, or that they've just misjudged him. He wouldn't mind being seen as weak, but he can't help but feel like he's going to face the consequences for this later.

People are going to burn out or get tired of him. His mother's going to resent the disruption he's caused in her and his father's work, once he's better. Ikuya is going to realize that this worry is keeping him from his swimming career. Ikuya's friends are going to remember that they don't actually like him, once he's no longer someone to offer charity to. Kisumi is going to realize that he'll never actually loosen up, never be able to just relax and enjoy the company that he offers. And Sam...Sam, who knows exactly the self-destructive spirals that Hiyori puts himself into caring for other people and not letting himself be cared for, won't be able to just stand by and watch him hurt himself with them, over and over. 

(That particular problem has started already. Hiyori can only hope that if he tries hard enough, he can stop it.)

He doesn't want those things to happen, and they haven't happened yet. It seems like the best way to prevent most of them is to try as hard as he can to be _okay_. He needs to appreciate the care he's getting. He has to believe that people like him, so that he can overcome the urge to keep testing their charity. Right now, things are okay, and if he keeps being careful, they might even keep getting better.

He doesn't know if talking about these feelings will help. It might explain some things to the people he talked to, but would that actually do anything productive? He gets the feeling that no amount of reassurances will make his doubts go away, at least not yet. So he holds the feelings in reserve for now, thinks through how he'll say them if someone asks. It's not quite the same as keeping a secret if he's still puzzling out the words.

* * *

After the book club, and everything happening with Sam, having the relay team visit should be easy. It's not, because nerves don't really answer to common sense, but Hiyori can at least tell himself that there's less to worry about where these guys are concerned.

It doesn't stop him feeling guilty when Shin and even Kotarou actually look worried when they stop by. Kotarou calls ahead and asks if he's allowed to have any outside food, and then arrives with Shin, Ikuya, and enough fried chicken for the four of them. Luckily, that part passes quickly enough, if awkwardly. Kotarou doesn't take long to put his foot in his mouth, Shin has a rejoinder as always, and as they laugh together the atmosphere loosens into something more natural.

It's not karaoke, but it's still fun. Dining halls and a nutrition plan (partly thanks to Ikuya) mean that Hiyori isn't really used to eating fast food very often, but it tastes really good when he's sharing it with the rest of his team. 

Kotarou tries to fill Hiyori in on the latest times and such, and actually does fairly well, though Ikuya corrects him once or twice and at one point actually pulls out his laptop to prove his point with the spreadsheets he's compiled. It's all in good fun, which Hiyori appreciates.

They ask about when he can get back, and sympathize with him about Hoshikawa's orders to wait till next term. Kotarou complains loudly about how they won't be able to really fine-tune their strategies until they can practice for real, all four of them, but it's clearly for show—a sign that they're committed to waiting for him. He doesn't really deserve their loyalty, but apparently he has it, and he's grateful.

They stick around for a few hours, too, well after they've finished eating, just chatting about nothing in particular. Hiyori goes quiet at one point, between stupid jokes, at the realization that he's _friends_ with Kotarou and Shin, now. It's weird how much that matters, and how much it surprises him. If he'd been asked before now, he'd probably say they were friends, but only because "teammate" would have sounded too cold to say out loud. They aren't really people who he'd have elected to spend time with outside of swimming—Kotarou especially is kind of an acquired taste, for Hiyori at least—but now they're people that he thinks he can count on, who he wants to keep in touch with. People he enjoys spending time with and doesn't feel as nervous around anymore.

Maybe _this_ was also what it was like for Ikuya, a long time ago. The people who he cares so deeply for now had once been kids in his swim club, a club that he'd admitted to Hiyori that he hadn't even wanted to join at first. Ikuya's plenty popular in Hiyori's eyes, but he also has a prickly side, and can be shy; despite those things, he ended up bonding deeply with the people that chance had thrown into his path.

Hiyori really only had that happen with Ikuya before. Watching himself get closer to random people, guys he didn't really decide to befriend so much as they fell into his life, is entirely new.

He's broken out of his thoughts, and suddenly wondering whether he's got a weird smile on his face, when Shin shifts suddenly and then speaks. "So...other people can visit now, right? It's just...some other guys were asking..."

Hiyori makes himself nod. "Yeah. I mean, if they want, that'd be very kind of them."

He's actually a little nervous at the idea. He likes everyone who's come by so far. He gets the feeling that some of Ikuya's friends came along mostly for Ikuya's benefit, or were only trying to get along with him for Ikuya's sake, but that doesn't mean spending time with them was bad. But he's not really sure what he'd talk about if more random acquaintances were to come along trying to make him feel better. It's not that he wouldn't appreciate the thought, but appreciation wouldn't be enough to get through an entire visit without being awkward. He'd hate to feel ungrateful because of his pitiful attempts at social skills.

Shin looks awkward. "Okay, I'll pass that on. I don't know if anyone will actually come, though—they were saying something about a friend of a friend."

Hiyori shrugs. "Well...I guess it'd be fine," he says. "If it's just guys from the team...I mean, I'll still be around, you know? Especially once the new term starts. I'll see the guys when I get back to campus. We can always hang out then."

"That's true," Kotarou says. "You're not exactly wilting away without company here, or anything."

"No," Hiyori says. "I've always been a bit of a loner. I'm honestly surprised this many people have come out."

"You don't give yourself enough credit," Shin says, with a hint of a friendly smirk. "This is just a hunch, but I kinda think you're actually a real social butterfly, deep down."

Hiyori barks out a laugh, surprised. "You're kidding."

"No," Kotarou jumps in, grinning. "No, I think Shin's got a point. You're gonna turn into the life of the party someday."

"No way!" Hiyori chuckles. "Absolutely not. I'll leave that to people like you." He knows more people like that than he used to—Kotarou counts, as does Kisumi, and to a certain extent Sam—but he can't imagine wanting to be like that himself.

"Me?" Kotarou says, gesturing at his chest dramatically. "Not at all, I'm a simple man with simple needs. All I need is my girl and my friends, and I'm good."

"So you already have what you want, is what you're saying," Ikuya comments dryly.

"Yep!"

"Wow," Hiyori says, crossing his arms. "Peaking in your first year of college. You've really got it all figured out, huh?"

Kotarou seems to realize he's being made fun of when Shin stifles a laugh in one hand. "Hey!" he says. "Okay, my girl, my friends, _and_ a few medals. I've still got a _long_ way to go."

"As long as you realize it," Shin says, chuckling. Kotarou elbows him, none too gently, and Shin dodges, putting up his hands in surrender.

Hiyori laughs along with them, as they start wrestling lazily, and the conversation turns to Ikuya trying not to get involved as Shin and Kotarou both try to recruit him to turn on the other.

"But anyway," Kotarou says finally, "We need to go out with us to karaoke again once you're out of here. I wanna learn some American songs to impress Misae-chan."

Hiyori grins. "Sure."

* * *

Thankfully, the basketball circle’s members don’t all visit at the same time. Hiyori hadn't predicted who all would come, and honestly doesn't remember all of their names, though he recognizes their faces; he's only played with some of them once or twice. Thankfully, they know each other, and he's able to pick up the surnames for most of them at least.

Sam comes along, too. He hangs back, mostly sticking in Kisumi's periphery, but that he came back at all is reassuring. In this group, he's quieter, and seems to be spending a lot of his time figuring out what's being talked about. A head shorter than everyone else, his gently rounded face stays turned upward, tilting this way and that as he tries to take in every word. He's distracted enough that Hiyori's able to watch him without being observed. He's tired and nervous, but otherwise seems like he's doing all right. That makes Hiyori feel better, just like the good-natured joking of the others does.

Growing up, he wouldn't have believed that guys like this existed—that _people_ like this existed, really. He's learned to tolerate a few more people getting close to him, but even then, he wouldn't have figured there were many people that were just...friendly.

But somehow, Kisumi seems to attract people like that as easy as breathing, or maybe it's just that something in him brings that out in people.

It's still the biggest group that's come so far, nearly ten people crammed into one corner of the visiting room, trying and failing not to be too loud. (Thankfully it's late afternoon, and no one seems to mind.) There are snacks, and a couple large bottles of soft drinks supplemented with visits to the vending machines down the hall, and Hiyori listens to random conversations about movies, overhears two guys a mutual love of pinball machines, and occasionally puts in his two cents when he knows about something.

It's a relatively short visit, enough so he still has the energy to be happy they came by when they start talking about leaving. He promises he'll be back soon (and mostly means it, though he might stick to HORSE games the first few times he comes), and they start getting ready to go. Sam stays firmly planted in his seat and says he's going to stay for a bit; Kisumi, overhearing this, invites himself to stick around as well. The rest of them troop out with good grace, promising that they know where the elevator is, and Kisumi sits back with a sigh.

"And that's that, I guess," he says. "Thanks for letting them come by, Hiyori. Looks like they had a good time."

It's so backward for Kisumi to be thanking Hiyori for this that Hiyori just chuckles and rolls with it. "Yeah, it was nice seeing them all again."

"Here," Sam pipes up, pulling a shiny new paperback book from his bag. "Sorry, I tried to find a hardcover, but it looks like they'd sold out."

"That's okay," Hiyori says. "I like paperbacks."

"Oh good," Sam says, "me too. Especially old ones. They get this like, smell, you know?"

"Yeah, they smell sweet!" Hiyori nods. "Hardcovers don't do that for some reason. It's a really nice smell."

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Ikuya giving him a weird look. "What?" he asks, teasingly.

"Nothing," Ikuya says, smiling faintly. "I was just thinking you're a nerd."

Kisumi laughs. "No, he's right! Haven't you ever smelled a paperback book before?"

"No?" Ikuya looks scandalized at the very thought. "I don't usually smell books?"

"You're the only one _not_ in basketball circle," Sam says. "How are you the biggest jock here?"

"I don't know whether that's a compliment or an insult," Ikuya says dryly.

Sam shrugs. "Whichever you want, I guess." 

Hiyori spares a wild second trying to decide if Sam is flirting with Ikuya or not—he's bad at telling in general, but Ikuya _is_ objectively attractive, but part of Sam's way of antagonizing people is sassing them and his sassing sometimes comes off bizarrely like flirting, what's up with that?—and he misses the way Kisumi's gone totally still, until he speaks.

"Uh..."

His tone is enough to cool the tone of the room instantly. Ikuya, who's at a good angle to see the doorway, turns slightly and immediately bristles. "Hey." It's very much a _what-are-you-doing-here_ sort of tone, rather than one of greeting.

Kisumi doesn't object to Ikuya’s response, which, combined with the strength of it and the sharp intake of Sam's breath, hints at who Hiyori is about to see striding into the room from a door well out of his eyeline.

Kinjou comes into view, and his gaze flickers across the rest of the group before landing firmly on Hiyori. "Yo." 

"What are _you_ doing here?" Sam's voice is loud and openly snide.

"Don't be like that," Kinjou says, stepping closer. "I just want to talk."

Kisumi looks over at Hiyori, nervous, but Sam is already stepping forward, putting himself between Hiyori and the doorway. "Go away," he says. "Leave Hiyori alone. Why would he want to talk to you?"

"Come on." Kinjou steps forward, putting a nonchalant hand on his hip. "Don't you think you're being a little dramatic? What do you think you're doing, getting in my way?" 

Sam doesn't move, but even from behind, Hiyori can see him take a deep breath.

Ikuya gets up, too, but he stays beside Hiyori, his posture tense. "Sam has a point," he says, voice mild. "I don't think there's anything Hiyori would want to hear from you."

"Sorry, but I'm selfish," Kinjou says lightly. "I decided _I_ want to see _him_. And besides, I'm the only one not talking over Hiyori right now, aren't I? How do you know what he thinks?"

Hiyori's mouth has gone dry. He can feel Kisumi's and Ikuya's eyes on him, prickling uncomfortably on his skin. Sam still doesn't budge, though.

"You have no right to talk to him," he says, voice tight.

"Sam." Finally, Kinjou leans back onto his heels, backing off ever so slightly. He gives the small group behind Sam an assessing glance, and then bends forward, pointedly leaning down to get into Sam's space. "What's wrong?" he asks, in English. "There's no need to worry. We're all friends here."

Hiyori can see Sam bristling. "I'm not sure where you got that impression. Did you think he just wouldn't tell anyone what you've been doing?"

Hiyori's heart is pounding. This feels _dangerous_. He's never put up as much of a fight against Kinjou as Sam is; even Sousuke and Natsuya hadn't been openly hostile. Sure, there are plenty of potential witnesses, and Kinjou probably wouldn't get into an outright fight in front of three other people in a hospital visiting area, but those facts are only relevant to the most obvious ways this can go wrong.

Sam knows more about Kinjou's behavior than Kisumi or Ikuya, but he's also clearly focusing on the threat to Hiyori. 

"We've settled our differences," Kinjou says easily. "I'm ready to move on. Hiyori's free to do whatever he wants. I just wanted to know if I'd be seeing him in the lanes anytime soon."

"Well, you're not welcome here." Sam isn't budging an inch. "Please leave."

"Pretty rude of you," Kinjou says, shaking his head, all mock disappointment. "Shigino-kun's worked so hard to make a place that'll accept _anyone_." Kisumi twitches. "The guys all welcomed _you_ like it was no big deal..."

Sam draws himself up, wound even tighter. Hiyori sees his knuckles go white, fists clenched at his sides.

Kinjou seems to see it, too. His eyes widen, and his grin bares a few more teeth. "...and what do you do with that? You start a campaign against me. First the book club, then the basketball circle...what next? What did I ever do to you? I've been _respectful_ this whole time, haven't I?"

Sam's voice comes out strangled. "Not to Hiyori, you haven't. He showed me what you've been saying to him."

Kinjou steps back, shoulders wide. "That? That was just a joke. I wanted him to open up more. You have to admit, it'd look bad if he were trying to hide your little club from his other friends. What does he have to be ashamed of?"

He sneaks a glance over Sam's shoulder, looking pleased by what he sees. Hiyori sneaks a glance at his companions. Ikuya looks quietly furious, and Kisumi looks lost—that's right, he probably hasn't been able to follow the English. Kinjou's English is good—better than Hiyori would've expected, though he probably should have known better than to underestimate him—and he's sure Kinjou decided to switch languages on purpose.

"Sam's right," Ikuya says suddenly. Apparently he has the same conclusion, because he switches the conversation back to Japanese. "Hiyori told me you promised to leave him alone. I don't know what you're doing here."

"Just wanted to check on him," Kinjou says, ignoring Sam easily.

"Well, you've checked." Kisumi's tone is light, but there's a tightness around his eyes that shows he's uncomfortable. "It looks like things have gotten a little complicated, though. Maybe you two should hang out later, once he's recovered." 

"No, they shouldn't." Sam's angry, but he doesn't even turn to look at Kisumi, just takes a small, menacing step in Kinjou's direction. "I don't know why you think it's okay for you to be here after everything you've done." 

"And what have I done?" Kinjou asks, deceptively reasonable. 

Sam isn't daunted. "If you don't know, you're a lost cause anyway." 

"Now, that's not very nice, is it?" Kinjou grins. "I thought we were all about tolerance here. Accepting people for who they want to be. After all..." He pauses for a long moment, clearly savoring their apprehension. "If we weren't, then what would _you_ be doing here?"

Sam seems to settle into place. Hiyori can just see the muscle working in his jaw as it clenches. "What. Do you mean. By that?" he asks, voice carefully even. 

"What? Everyone knows already, right?" Kinjou looks at them, and spreads his hands. "After all, it's _obvious_." 

Hiyori's mind spins. Kinjou wouldn't play with Sam like this over being a foreigner. He _definitely_ knows what the book club people are about, so this could be about that—which breaks him into a cold sweat just to think about, but... 

"Kinjou," he says, breaking the silence. He thanks whatever lucky star's watching over him that his voice comes out mild. "I'm a little surprised you came by too, honestly. I thought we had an agreement." 

_If you out Sam, you'll probably out me, too. Watch yourself._

But Kinjou looks delighted, rather than chastened. "Don't worry," he says, "I remember. I don't plan to go back on my word." 

"Really." He keeps his voice level. "Then why don't you say what you came here to say, and get out? I don't appreciate you antagonizing my friends." 

Kinjou chuckles. "Everyone's so _hostile._ I think I'm the only one in this room who cares about staying friendly." His voice drops into something darker. "Lucky for you. So, a few quick questions. You had meningitis, right?" 

"Yes." 

" _Neisseria meningitidis_ specifically? If you don't mind me asking." 

"...Yes." He's pretty sure that's the name they said, anyway. He'd found the name when he'd done some research on what the doctors told him, and it had stuck in his head because some darkly amused part of his brain had thought that _Neisseria_ looked like _nereid_. It didn’t, but he hadn’t shaken the reference. 

"Great. Does that mean you infected me with it? Or that you might have?" 

"Possible, but not likely. I was planning to tell you, but then I found out you'd heard already." 

"How thoughtful of you." Kinjou's voice drips with sarcasm. "And do I get to give up on you yet? Or are you still planning to come back and compete?" 

"I'll be back," Hiyori promises. "Though feel free to decide to ignore me in the meantime. I'm really not as interesting as you seem to think I am." 

Kinjou shakes his head. "You've been plenty disappointing recently, that's for sure." 

"All the more reason for you to focus on training." Hiyori shrugs. "It's not like you need anything else, after all. If anything, maybe I should apologize for being a distraction." 

"Hm. I'd consider accepting that apology." 

"Great." Hiyori pauses. "Is that all?" 

"Not...quite." Kinjou pauses, shoves his hands into the pocket of his hoodie. "I don't suppose I could get your little posse to leave for a moment." 

"Nope," Sam says instantly. 

"Nobody asked you, Sam- _kun_." 

Sam shuts up even before Hiyori speaks up again. "He's right. I don't really want to ask them to leave, and they probably wouldn't even if I did." 

"Fine." Kinjou closes his eyes for a moment, barely longer than a blink. "I realize now that the timing of our little spat was...perhaps not the best. I was hoping you'd actually work _through_ some of your shit instead of letting it bury you, but I guess we weren't on the same wavelength. Then, or maybe ever." He takes a deep breath. "If I'd paid better attention, maybe we could've had a better match. I'm sorry." 

Hiyori's stomach flips in a way that he doesn't like at all, and anger rises in him. How dare Kinjou try to pretend to be thoughtful _now_? The best thing he could have done would be to stay away, but he hasn't even had the courtesy to do that.

Still, there's no way that rejecting the apology would make the conversation end faster, would it? What can he say to finally make Kinjou _leave him alone?_

"You don't have to accept that," Sam says quietly. He turns his back almost completely on Kinjou, a calculated show of indifference. "Just so you know." 

"I..." Hiyori pauses. His mouth's gone dry. "I'm just surprised he'd say something like that, I guess." 

It's a little cowardly, not answering Kinjou directly, but it's probably a step up from pretending to forgive him out of fear.

"I'm wounded," Kinjou says, voice light. There's something dangerous in his eyes, though. "I'm just trying to be a good sport. What's your problem, Hiyori?" 

"I don't know why you think it was a bad match," Hiyori says. He smiles slightly, although a blandly pleasant expression is all he can manage at the moment. "You couldn't even take advantage of that handicap. I still won." 

That gets Kinjou's hackles up, though he tries not to show it. At least he's predictable. "I'd rather see what you can do when you _don't_ feel backed into a corner," he says, still faking being at ease. "I didn't want you to be scared of anything but my talent. But then again, I guess I underestimated your baggage. I should know better." 

Hiyori narrows his eyes at him, disgusted by this change of tune, but thankfully Ikuya saves him. "I have seen you physically threaten him. Don't try to pretend you haven't." 

Sam practically vibrates with rage. That's right, Hiyori hadn't actually admitted the part about the collar-grabbing to Sam, had he? Oops. 

"Please, I was just trying to get his attention." Kinjou shakes his head, and turns to Hiyori. "You get so stuck in the past, I thought a little reminder might be the only thing you'd actually notice." 

There's something off in what Kinjou's saying, some hidden meaning Hiyori doesn't get. Kinjou has the same predatory smirk as he had pushing Sam's buttons a moment ago, and even though he's not sure what Kinjou's hinting at now either, he recognizes that same intent is directed at him. But what...? 

"You've always been so quiet, locked away in your shell," Kinjou says. "I thought you would've learned when you were a kid that it wouldn't save you, but you've gotten even more reclusive since then, haven't you?" 

_Since..._

Hiyori goes numb, brain whirling as he reinterprets what Kinjou's getting at, trying to calculate whether he can _possibly_ know what he seems to be implying he knows...

_He can._

"Who knows?" Kinjou says, slick and sharp. "If you ever just stopped hiding, people would probably just accept it. _All sorts_ of people can be winners now. It's not like when we were kids. No one would—"

"Kinjou," Hiyori says, and hardly recognizes his own voice. It's gone flat and hard and _angry,_ when really all he's feeling is a cold, sharp lump in the pit of his stomach. 

He _knows._ How does he know?

"Hmm?" He's clearly playing dumb for his own amusement, because nobody in the room buys it at all. 

"You've talked long enough," Sam says. "You said what you came to say, right? If Hiyori doesn't want to forgive you, I think that's honestly very smart of him." He comes closer, movement quick and light, and grabs Kinjou's upper arm, looking up at him. He has to crane his neck to do so, but doesn't seem intimidated in the slightest. "It's easy to get lost, so I'll walk you out." 

Kisumi stirs at that, looking unhappy. "I can—” 

"No, thank you." Sam throws him a quick look. "I'll be back in a minute. There's something I want to discuss." 

Sam is angry enough that nobody seems to want to argue with him. Hiyori's sure this is a bad idea, but his doubts are outweighed by wanting Kinjou out of the room as soon as possible. The sooner he's gone, the better, but if Kinjou's trying to pull something on Sam...the terms of Kinjou's agreement with Hiyori don't cover that at all. "As long as it's really only a minute," he says. He tries to add _Be careful,_ with his eyes alone. 

From the way Sam's expression drops for a moment, he gets the message. "It will be. Kinjou?" 

Kinjou takes one last, leisurely look around the room—Hiyori struggles not to look impatient, unwilling to give him the satisfaction—and then finally lets Sam tug away and down the hall. 

There's a murmur of low voices down the hallway a moment or two after they leave, but it quickly fades into silence. 

Hiyori takes a long moment to breathe out a sigh. 

Kisumi comes over, concern written all over his face. "Is it okay to just...let them go? It seems like they really don't get along." 

"I think Sam wants some privacy," Hiyori says. "Let's give him a few minutes, unless we hear anything. They're in a public place, so Kinjou shouldn't be able to do anything terrible." 

_Now that they're alone,_ he doesn't add. He's learned the hard way—is learning, again—that Kinjou is at his most dangerous when he can weaponize the secrets he seems to specialize in digging up to hurt people. 

How long has he had this secret of Hiyori's? It must be from the beginning, before all the others. 

Why is it only now that he's chosen to reveal it? 

"Hiyori?" Ikuya is frowning at him, the concern that Hiyori's learned to recognize only recently clouding his features. "Are you okay?" 

"Not...right this second," Hiyori admits. "I didn't expect him to come back. I wasn't ready for it." 

Did Ikuya pick up on what Kinjou knows? He can't have, right? He doesn't have any context. Hiyori had made excuses, covered up the evidence, and then had been very, very careful to make sure that the rumors he feared might surround him would never touch Ikuya. He'd been so vigilant, looking for signs, but the children that had bothered him that one time never did again...

Sam steps back into the room, face drawn and grim. Hiyori isn't sure how long it's been, whether he'd stuck to his promise of a minute, but he's back, and that's the important thing. He looks down at his lap and gives himself a moment to just _think_.

Looking back on it, the fact that it stopped was the oddest part. Why _hadn't_ it happened more than once? The bullying hadn't stopped completely, but it had gone back underground after that incident. He'd recognized the whispers, the sideways glances, the oddly-timed laughter, for a long time afterwards, but they'd only jumped him once. That small group of children had only called him those names and shoved him around and struck and kicked him till he was black and blue that one time. 

Of course, he'd learned caution after that, learned to be quick and quiet and wary and never be out alone for longer than he could avoid, so he'd thought he just hadn't given them the opportunity. But in hindsight...he's probably lucky that they hadn't found a way to escalate anyway. He'd been so desperately grateful as time had passed and there'd been no sign of Ikuya having any reason to learn what those kids had thought about him. By the time they'd moved back to Japan he'd all but forgotten about the risk. It had finally been buried in the past. 

But it hadn't, because apparently Kinjou had either heard or seen, and now, despite what he'd promised, he's just let Hiyori know that he can bring it down on his head at any time—

 _No._ No, thinking about it that way isn't going to help him calm down. His heart is picking up speed as it is, enough that he's consciously aware of the way his lungs want more, faster, deeper breaths. 

"Hey," Kisumi says. He looks so serious, and Hiyori feels guilty about that, because it's kind of his fault that someone as cheerful as Kisumi looks like this right now. 

"Yeah?" he asks. He sounds pretty calm, he thinks. That's good. He wasn't sure he'd be able to play it this cool. 

Kisumi puts a hand on his shoulder. "We don't have to talk about that guy if you don't want to," he says. "I'm figuring out that it's not worth listening to anything he says anyway." 

"Oh." Hiyori blinks. He really, _really_ doesn't want to talk about it, so that's a relief. 

"That said," Kisumi says, "He doesn't even go to our school. I'm pretty sure I can tell campus security that he's not welcome and start getting him kicked off." 

Hiyori stares. "Um. That seems...a little harsh?"

Kisumi shakes his head. He looks sad, but determined. "I kind of think it's overdue, actually." 

Ikuya nods. Sometime in the past few minutes, he'd settled down right next to Hiyori, and now he nudges him. "He's right," he says. "I'd kinda liked it if you never had to see him again. Competitions might make that a little difficult, but we should be able to manage it the rest of the time." 

Hiyori considers that. "I could just stop going to basketball circle—” he says. 

"You could, but that'd be a shame," Kisumi says. "Especially since I'm going to kick Kinjou out whether or not you do. Did you see the way he was talking to Sam?" 

Hiyori had. He's pretty sure he missed something, there, actually, though he's not sure whether Kisumi picked up on it. But language barrier or not, watching Kinjou loom and Sam practically crackle with hostility had been pretty disturbing. 

"Yeah." Kisumi sighs. "I might...I don't know. I'm not saying I won't feel a little bad about it, but like...not enough to let him just keep coming and harassing my friends." 

Hiyori can't suppress a smile at hearing that. "You're a really good person, Kisumi."

"Yeah," Ikuya agrees. 

Kisumi goes pinker than his hair. "You guys are too nice, stop that," he says, laughing. 

"Nope," Hiyori says. "Not gonna. You chose to be friends with us, you have to deal with this now." 

It's one of the first times he's been brave enough to tease Kisumi, but from the way he laughs, it seems Hiyori pulled it off all right.

Sam takes a few more minutes than the rest of them to warm up to the tone of the conversation, but Kisumi's plans to get Kinjou banned from the Hidaka campus seem to do a lot to reassure him. Hiyori kind of wants to ask what Sam had wanted to talk to Kinjou about, but this mood feels too nice to break. Besides, the last thing he wants is to have to talk about what Kinjou was talking with _him_ about, so asking Sam too many questions would be kind of hypocritical.

Kisumi and Sam leave together in another hour or so, but Ikuya turns down their invitation to join them, pulling up his backpack meaningfully as they leave instead. Hiyori settles down to study without thinking about it too hard, and by the time Ikuya raises his questions, he's so engrossed that it takes him a moment to realize what Ikuya's talking about. 

"Kisumi was right, you don't have to say if you don't want to. But...that stuff Kinjou was talking about before..." 

Hiyori hopes it isn't too obvious that he feels frozen, struggling to meet Ikuya's gaze. He waits. 

"If you _do_ want to talk about anything, ever, you can. Just so you know." Ikuya pauses, biting his lips. "If it's something important, I want to know about it." 

Regardless of what he's saying, it's obvious that Ikuya _wants_ to know what they were talking about. Hiyori takes a deep breath, weighing the impulse to give Ikuya what he wants against his own fears, trying to find a balance. 

"That's all," Ikuya mutters, and looks back down at his textbook. It seemed Hiyori waited for a bit too long, or maybe Ikuya's just being kind and giving him an out. 

"I," he says, and Ikuya snaps his head back up again, apparently not as resigned as he'd seemed. "There was a time in middle school where...I was dealing with some bullying. It wasn't huge, but it did get bad at one point. I didn't realize that Kinjou knew." 

Speaking about it on his own terms seems like the safest option, for now. When he's controlling the conversation, he can mention what he wants and gloss over what he doesn't. He's not ready for Ikuya to know about the rest, but hopefully it will make him feel a little better to know part of the story. 

"I didn't know that," Ikuya says. "Was it...before we met, or...?" 

"A little after," Hiyori says. "I don't remember exactly when, but I don't think we'd hung out for too long yet." It's a little later than he's saying, but he genuinely doesn't remember—he'd tried so hard to avoid thinking about the incident, especially relating it to anything about Ikuya. "But like I said, it ended on its own. I guess they lost interest." 

Ikuya nods slowly, digesting this. "I would've helped if you'd asked," he says finally, soft. "You shouldn't have had to deal with it on your own." 

Hiyori smiles for him. "Yeah," he says. "Thanks." 

They stay like that for a moment, and then Ikuya seems to get self-conscious, returning to his book with a small cough. Hiyori pretends to do the same, a moment later. 

It hurts a little, because Ikuya's right based on what he knows, and he can't know the main reason Hiyori had been scared to tell him. If they hadn't said those things, maybe he would've opened up to Ikuya sooner—maybe he would've learned that he _could,_ that Ikuya cared. Maybe they would've spent more time together, or Natsuya would have walked Hiyori home for a few days, or something. Maybe Ikuya would have convinced him, eventually, to tell his parents what happened. 

But none of that had felt safe, because of what the children had said. What he'd looked up on the home computer after, before realizing what he'd seen and what it meant and erasing his history in a panic, hiding the evidence of the words and the blows and praying no one would ever realize what had happened.

Back then, he'd wished and hoped and prayed that the problem would go away. He'd kept his drawings of mermaids and princesses carefully hidden, taking down the few his parents had managed to see and put up whenever Ikuya came to visit. Dangerous topics had never even come close to coming up. It had been fine. 

Still, Sam, and then Kinjou, had made him realize that the problem's never gone away, not really. He's pushed it further down the road, leaving it for a future version of himself to figure out. But...maybe that's exactly what's needed, though. He's still not ready to talk about it, not yet, but he feels closer to it than he's ever been. And he trusts more than ever that the people he cares about will be fine with him waiting until he's got his head on straight. 

Well. As straight as he can be, anyway, so not very. 

Hiyori chuckles silently to himself and bends to his reading. At least now he can laugh about it in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Specific content warning:** Kinjou reminds Hiyori of a homophobic bullying incident that happened when he was in middle school, and threatens to out both Hiyori and Sam, by making a lot of queerphobic insinuations. (He doesn't actually out them, but the threat remains.)
> 
> * * *
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading! I hope that you've been hanging in there okay. This is the start of a shift to the next arc of the story, one that I'm really excited to be finally getting around to. 
> 
> If you're wondering what Sam said to Kinjou, or what exactly Kinjou is dangling over his head, well...I didn't include that in this story because I'm trying to stick to Hiyori's and Ikuya's points of view, and neither of them know what's going on there. That said, I'm probably going to put that particular argument into a spin-off scene, and that in turn might become a multi-chapter thing of its own. If this story gets put into a series sometime soon, that'll be why.


	31. Afloat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ikuya does some preparation in the background.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some Kinjou description and medical discussion this chapter, but nothing big or in the scenes themselves. 
> 
> Gigantic thank-you to my beta, because these sorts of wrap-up chapters are always a bear and they've helped so much with this round of it especially.

Ikuya's never really hated someone the way he's starting to think he hates Kaede Kinjou. 

He's gotten angry before. He's resented people before, often the people he cares about the most. But he's never found himself daydreaming about someone just...disappearing...and simultaneously wanted to hit them in order to make that happen. So he thinks that maybe this is what hatred feels like. 

The weirdest part about it is how slowly it crept up on him. The first time he saw Kinjou manhandling Hiyori, he'd felt equal parts anger and shock. The disgust with himself for doing more hadn't come till much later. 

In hindsight, looking at the way that Hiyori had been worn down...he can't blame all of that on Kinjou, but knowing that he's to blame for parts of it is infuriating. Ikuya had been causing enough problems between them, and honestly Hiyori made some significant mistakes, too, but Kinjou was actively trying to make things worse. 

Ikuya feels like he still doesn't know the worst of it, but that just makes him angrier. It's like Kinjou has been inserting himself into every gap between Ikuya and Hiyori, trying to find all the angles where Hiyori is defenseless. 

And now this. 

Ikuya doesn't know whether to be irritated with Sam or grateful that someone is there who's willing to at least start treating Kinjou the way he deserves to be treated. Ikuya wants to shout, wants to fly off the handle and hit Kinjou in the face, but every instinct is shouting at him to stay in control, not to give Kinjou anything he can use, to keep the high ground. 

He's not sure if that's wise or cowardly, and that uncertainty freezes him in place. 

If there's anything he's good for, at least he's by Hiyori's side. 

Still, it rankles him, long after Kinjou has left. When Hiyori finally seems to have calmed down, when Sam—still tight-lipped and angry, but less obviously than before—takes his leave, and Ikuya's left alone with Hiyori, still trying to pretend that he's calm, too...he can't stop thinking about it. Every little angle, the questions left unanswered. 

There’s something that Ikuya doesn’t know that Kinjou does, but Hiyori doesn’t want to talk to him about it. That bothers him, but oddly, not as much as he would have thought it would. He'd be more angry with himself if Kinjou had managed to force Hiyori into sharing something he didn't want. Thinking of it that way makes the curiosity easier to bear; Ikuya would happily go his whole life never asking or finding out, just to spite Kinjou. 

No, it's something else that's bothering him. It's the way that Kinjou seems to be a step ahead all the time, knowing more about Hiyori than Ikuya is comfortable with. It's well into the realm of stalking, and Ikuya wants to know how he knows what he knows—wants to cut him off from Hiyori entirely, if at all possible. 

So he does some asking around. 

He starts with Kisumi, asking about how he's planning to get Kinjou barred from campus. Then, when it becomes obvious that Kisumi doesn't know everything about the process, Ikuya goes to Sam instead. Sam's done more research, but was struggling a bit with the stiff, formal Japanese official policies, so Ikuya helps a bit with that. Then he goes looking for his own school’s student handbook, which he'd gotten a few months earlier. He uses what he saw helping Sam to find the section that he needs to figure out what precautions he can take.

Knowing he can get security called on Kinjou if he shows up is a good first step, but it isn't everything. The thought of Kinjou lingers in the back of his head, though, and, obeying an instinct he isn't fully sure about, he follows up on something else that's been bothering him.

"Hey, Shin," he says, at the start of the next practice. "Do you have a sec?" 

"What's up?" Shin asks, and steps away from the poolside when Ikuya beckons. Kotarou follows them, looking curious. 

"I was just wondering about something you were talking about before, with Hiyori. About other people visiting." 

"Oh, right, that." Shin shrugs. "I passed that on, but I haven't heard anything else about it." 

"Yeah, okay," Ikuya says. "Who 'd you pass it on _to_?" 

”Uh...pretty sure it was Satou? Over there.” Shin points. 

If asked, Ikuya wouldn’t have been able to confidently put a face to the name of the guy Shin leads him to, but Satou seems to know who he is. He asks about the "friend of a friend" thing, and almost bursts into flames of embarrassment when Satou rattles off a name Ikuya doesn't recognize.

Still, he follows his hunch one more step. “That name kind of rings a bell,” he lies. “I’m not sure I know him, though. What’s he look like?”

It’s a good thing he’d pressed, because his hunch is proven right. Orange hair and kind of kind of shady smile...it's Kinjou, using a fake name. That's...chilling. 

Ikuya doesn't want to make a huge deal of it, so he doesn't pass on the part about the false identity. "Listen. I don't know what Ki—this guy told you, but...they're not exactly friends. It's complicated. Can you just...if he asks again, can you not tell him anything? And maybe let Hiyori know? Or me, that works too, I’d pass it along.”

The guy looks taken aback. "Sure, I guess, but...is something wrong?" 

"It's kind of a long story." Ikuya shakes his head. "If you know anyone else who this guy’s talked to, please pass it along. I’m not saying he’s completely shady or whatever, but I don’t think Hiyori wants him to know much of his business." 

"Sure," the guy says. "I'm really sorry, I didn't realize—" 

"No, how would you?" Ikuya tries his best to be reassuring. "Thanks for trying to look out for him, though. He'd appreciate it." 

He really would, probably, under different circumstances. It's amazing how little Hiyori expects anyone to look out for his welfare; even this misguided attempt to do something nice for him from a distance would probably mean something to him. Given the stalking that goes hand-in-hand with it, though, Ikuya decides that Hiyori doesn’t need to know the resolution to this particular part of the Kinjou mystery just yet. 

Just to cover as many bases as possible, he goes to the captain next, as soon as practice ends. 

"I don't have all the details," he says, "but there's this guy from another campus who's been harassing Hiyori. Is there anything we can do to keep him away?" 

In the end, there isn't much that Hoshikawa can do that campus security can't, but he does manage to get the pool and gym staff in on the situation, and get Kinjou's name added to a blacklist that’s kept behind the front desk. It's as much as can be managed without dragging the entire team into Hiyori's business, which he's sure is the last thing Hiyori would want. But the voice in the back of his head that's been bothering him about Kinjou finally begins to quiet down some. 

Oddly, the worry doesn't go away entirely as much as it shifts focus. There's something about the last phase of Hiyori's hospital stay that leaves Ikuya a little on-edge. He's relieved that Hiyori will be back, of course, and he’s looking forward to returning to their routine, but....wasn't their routine part of what caused this problem in the first place? How sure is he that whatever left Hiyori so isolated before, whatever made him wear himself down, won't come back? 

If he didn't notice before now when things started to go wrong, who's to say he'll be able to notice the next time? 

* * *

A few days before Hiyori's supposed to be released, Ikuya comes in to find him reading through a sheaf of paper and frowning, looking more tired than he does focused.

"Hey," he says, sitting down and pretending he isn't suddenly watching Hiyori twice as hard as usual. 

It's a good thing he's watching, too, because this way it's impossible to miss the fact that Hiyori casually puts aside the paper on the side further away from Ikuya—even though Ikuya's right next to his side table, where Hiyori could logically be expected to put it. 

"What are you looking at?" he asks. 

Hiyori grimaces. "Just...some information the doctor gave me. Nothing too interesting." 

Ikuya lets the moment stretch, giving Hiyori a Look. 

Hiyori swallows and looks away. "Okay, so it's a little...I'm still reading through it," he mumbles. "But it's not worth worrying over—” 

"Can I see?" 

Hiyori frowns for a long moment, and then gives it over. "It's just...some precautions," he says. "Things to watch out for. Just in case." 

Ikuya looks over the sheet that Hiyori hands him, and Ikuya scans down the list of complications. There's nothing major, till he gets to the bottom of the third page. The heading reads, _Recurrent seizures_. 

Ikuya's heart drops as he reads on. 

"...Okay," he says, finally, "but the risk of most of this is...pretty low. Right?" 

"Yeah," Hiyori replies, a little too quickly. "Just...signs to watch out for, I guess. Like for instance, if I can remember how a seizure feels from that first time time, I should have time to get help before it gets really bad." 

"Do you remember?" Ikuya asks. 

Hiyori shrugs. "More or less." 

He looks preoccupied, brow furrowed and eyes distant. Ikuya remembers the way Hiyori had admitted to being scared before. He doesn't want him having to remember, doesn't want him considering that it'll happen again. 

"Okay," he says. "I'll....uh. I'll look into it, too. Just in case." 

Hiyori looks surprised. "You will?" 

"Sure," Ikuya says. His smile feels a little fake, but he keeps it small, manageable. "Someone needs to be around to tell everyone else not to panic, right?" 

Hiyori nods. "Yeah. I..." Then he stops, head hanging. 

Ikuya frowns. "What is it?" 

Hiyori shakes his head sharply. "It's stupid," he says, firmly. 

"Prove it," Ikuya says, wishing the first words to come to mind could be something kinder. Is this too rough? He's not like Hiyori, with his humility and his straightforward, warm care; he never imagined how hard it would be to do that until he tries to come out with it himself and ends up sounding like his brother instead. At least his tone, he thinks, is reasonably soft. "Tell me." 

"I just...if it happened, you know...in the pool," Hiyori says. "Would I be able to get out before it really hit? I mean, probably, right? But...yeah." 

Ikuya feels his stomach knot unhappily. "That isn't nothing," he gets out. He doesn't exactly remember drowning, not all of it, but it hurts and it's awful, especially the aftermath, and the idea that it could happen to Hiyori makes him feel sick. 

"It'd be okay," Hiyori says. "Probably. I'll just...be careful. It's not like I'm in the habit of swimming alone, anyway." 

"Yeah," Ikuya says. "Yeah, I guess neither of us should be anymore, huh?" 

Hiyori gives him a grateful look. "Yeah," he agrees. "I'm really lucky I have you, Ikuya." 

"Me, too." And then Ikuya hugs him, because how can he not, with Hiyori's incredulous little smile and his wide eyes? It's like just for a second the tiny child version of him is shining through, shy amazement, and it's...

_Beautiful._ It's a little weird to think of it that way, but it's true. Hiyori's beautiful, and Ikuya doesn't want anything bad to happen to him. Not ever. 

He's stopped Kinjou. He's going to learn about seizures, just in case another epileptic episode comes along. 

What else can he do? Is there anything? 

Natsuya being useful? In my fic?? It’s more likely than you’d think

He ponders it for a little while—what else can he do? Is he missing something? He considers schedules, Hiyori's past behavior, his own weaknesses when he's been down. He considers asking Makoto—what does he do for Haru now, what did he do when they were younger, how did he learn his friend's warning signs? But Makoto's not one of his texting buddies, normally, and he doesn't want to worry him—not when he's asked so much already. 

But that's stupid, right? Isn't this the sort of thing he's been telling Hiyori to get over? 

He thinks it over maybe a little longer and harder than he should, because he ends up blurting it out to Natsuya, of all people. 

Or maybe it isn't that surprising. Natsuya's mostly couch-surfed at Nao's, but has shamelessly crashed on Ikuya's bed a few times, too, taking advantage of the fact that he blends in perfectly on campus. (That bothers Ikuya more than it used to, the idea that any college-aged kid can just waltz onto their campus completely unchallenged, but isn't that just another sign that he's overthinking things?)

"What's up, little bro? You've got a real long face there." 

"Just...thinking." 

"About what?" 

It's unlike Natsuya to pry, but...weirdly enough, Ikuya doesn't hate it this time. "...Schedule stuff, I guess." 

"Yeah?" Natsuya says, eyebrow up. "You've managed pretty well so far, right?" 

"Yeah, kinda, but..." Ikuya frowns. "You know, when Hiyori gets back." 

"Won't that make things easier?" 

"Maybe not for him." 

"...Ah." Natsuya folds his arms, propping one bare foot up on Ikuya's coffee table. Ikuya manages to ignore that, in favor of the actually serious conversation they're managing to have. "I could say that Hiyori's a big boy who knows how to look out for himself, but...well..."

"Exactly." 

"...No, you know what? I'm still gonna say that." Natsuya shrugs. "You need to give yourself _and_ Hiyori some more credit. You both know better than ever what sorts of things you need to be careful about." 

"That's...a point, I guess." 

Natsuya nods sagely. "Wait till the season kicks into gear again, that's probably when you'll have something to really panic over. Or, y'know, finals, but those aren't till January. Which, actually." He straightens, foot landing back on the floor with a soft _thump_. "Not that I’m trying to distract you or anything, but there's something you should probably be thinking about." 

Ikuya cocks his head. "What?" 

Natsuya sighs. "You need to check your phone more often. I'm pretty sure Mom CC-ed you on the email." 

"What?" Apparently he does need to check his inbox more often, because he has no idea what Natsuya's talking about. 

"Well, I told her I'm in the country," Natsuya says." She's trying to get hold of Dad now, too, but even if he can't make it, she wants us to come back to Iwatobi for the holidays." 

"...Oh." 

He hasn't discussed it with Hiyori, but he's assuming that his family's planning to stay in Tokyo, since they don't live in Iwatobi anymore. 

Well, Natsuya's right about one thing, at least. That _is_ something else to worry about. 

* * *

He ends up giving in and calling Makoto. Figuring out what to do over the holidays is what tips him over into doing it, and he hasn't been over to see them much lately. They've backed off a bit now that Hiyori's better, which is probably for the best, but it means he hasn't seen them in a while. 

Besides, he's pretty sure Makoto is heading home over the holidays, too, what with Ran and Ren. Knowing that he's heading home, too, it only makes sense to touch base. 

They end up talking about that first—it's the more reasonable reason to call, really, and Makoto sounds delighted that they might get to spend time together over the holidays. Ikuya's pretty excited about it, too. Apparently Haru is coming home with Makoto, which Makoto explains like it's the most natural thing in the world. 

Back when they were in middle school, too, it seemed like Haru was over at Makoto's as often as he wasn't. Especially after that time when his parents left on that business trip... 

That's as good a segue as any, actually. "I actually had something to ask, about you and Haru. Or rather, I'd like some advice." 

"Oh?" Makoto's response is a little more surprised than Ikuya thinks he deserves. "What is it?" 

"Well, if I'm going back to Iwatobi, I'd like Hiyori to come too, but his parents are staying in Tokyo, so..." 

They talk it out. Makoto reminds him not to get his heart set on it, but he seems to think that Ikuya can at least ask whether they'd be willing to send Hiyori back to Iwatobi after the return to America. Ikuya hadn't been too sure about even that, but Makoto reassures him that it's not as big a deal as he's thinking. 

"You're thinking about Hiyori, after all," he says. "They came here to be with him, right? It seems like they care a lot. I think it'd be good for him to be among friends, and maybe somewhere quieter. Besides, the worst they can say is no. I doubt they'd hold it against you." 

"Okay." 

Makoto laughs a little. "I used to worry about this sort of thing a lot with Haru's parents, too. I promise, it's not as big a deal as you're worried it is." 

"Yeah, okay." Ikuya thinks about it. This is...pushing it a little bit, but he kind of wants to know more. "Hey, Makoto?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Your family used to look after Haru a lot when he was younger, right?"

Makoto sounds a tiny bit guarded now, which is unusual for him. "Yes?" 

"And...you kind of looked after him yourself all the way through till college." 

"Well, only sort of. Haru's pretty independent." Makoto chuckles. "But he sometimes gets...unique ideas about what to prioritize. So I kind of kept an eye on things, yes." 

"Yeah." Ikuya remembers, and from the stories he's overheard from Nagisa before, Haru only got more "independent" as he got older. The stripping is a story he'd like to get more details on sometime, but unfortunately that isn't what he wants to focus on right now. "Do you have any...I don't know, tips?"

"Oh what?" Makoto sounds amused. 

"Hiyori's...a little like Haru, sometimes." Saying that leaves Ikuya feeling flustered for some reason, and he feels like it sounds silly somehow—they're such different people in most ways, what if Makoto can't see the connection? He hurries on. "He hides it better, but I think he can get kind of...single-minded, sometimes? He doesn't look after himself as well as he pretends he does. Or...he hasn't lately." 

"...I see." Makoto sounds kind again. "That sort of thing can happen to anyone, but Hiyori's not very good at admitting when he's having trouble, is he? I can see why that would worry you." 

"You think I'm overthinking this, don't you?" Ikuya grumbles. There's no other reason even Makoto would be this gentle about it otherwise. 

"Are you kidding? I'm the last person who'd get to criticize you over that." Makoto sounds amused again, but at his own expense. "Look, I'll admit something, okay?" 

"What?" 

"When I'm not around Haru, I'm worse at keeping a healthy schedule, too." 

"...What do you mean?" 

"I mean...I think as long as you two keep an eye out for each other, you'll be okay. If that makes sense? Honestly, sometimes I still feel like I don't know quite how to balance this sort of thing. But..." Makoto sounds embarrassed. "Looking out for Haru is easier than looking out for myself sometimes, and he's gotten pretty good at looking out for me, too. I think...you and Hiyori might be like that, too. So don't worry too much." 

Ikuya considers this. "So...you're saying we should...fuss over each other. Or something." 

Makoto laughs. "Yeah, pretty much!" 

"Okay." Yeah, now that he thinks about it, that makes sense. Mostly, anyway. "Thanks." 

"Anytime." 

* * *

The day before Hiyori's going to leave the hospital, Ikuya manages to catch his parents at the tail end of their visit. 

It's...probably not the most awkward conversation of his life, but it's not too far down the list, he thinks in the back of his head as he stumblingly talks through what he's asking. He did end up contacting Makoto, in the end, to coach him through the conversation. Makoto was even more helpful than Ikuya had thought; he'd had similar conversations with Haru's parents over the years, although he admitted he'd leaned on his own parents for help more than once. 

Still, Ikuya's an adult now, or close enough; he does his best to ask politely. 

By the end of the conversation, Hiyori's mother is difficult to read, but his father turns to her, looking thoughtful. "You know," he says, "we haven't been back to Iwatobi in a while. It's slightly short notice, but it's worth looking into—what do you think? I'd rather travel there with Hiyori than have him travel back on his own after Christmas." 

Miyuki Toono frowns a bit, and Ikuya deliberately tries not to look nervous. He'd come willing to accept a no regardless, so there isn't really anything to worry about; she just comes across as a little high-strung. He hopes he hasn't offended her.

"If we can arrange it," she says, "then it should be fine. If Hiyori wants to, of course." 

"I'll ask," Ikuya says immediately. "I...I'd kind of like him to meet some of my old friends, too. It's his hometown too, after all. Or close enough." 

Hiyori's father smiles. "See? I think it'll be nice to head back to the countryside. Relaxing. It's been a while for all of us, after all." 

Miyuki seems to consider this, then smiles faintly and turns back to Ikuya. "All right," she says, before turning to Ikuya. "We'll look into it." 

Ikuya bows back, hiding a grin of relief that he's not completely sure is dignified enough to show her. "Thank you very much." 

One less thing to worry about, then. He'll look after Hiyori as best he can till the break, and then make sure he won't be alone over the new year's holidays. There's actually making it all work, but he can probably manage that. So far, so good.

It isn't till he's added to a group chat with way more sparkle emojis (Nagisa) and detailed logistical plans (Rei) for a Christmas Eve party that he considers the event-planning side of the situation, but it's fine. No need to panic. He'll get there when he gets there, though he is a little annoyed with himself about one thing. 

If he'd thought about this just a little earlier, he would've had plenty of time to find a gift for Hiyori without him having any opportunity to notice. As it is, he's left himself a lot less leeway for shopping, and not a lot of time to actually get whatever he settles on. And he's always been bad at keeping secrets from him more than anyone. 

Oh, well. He's committed this far to making this the best holiday he can for them both. Might as well go all the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is gonna be Christmas! (I hope. In September, so that's a tiny bit weird, but it is what it is, haha.) 
> 
> Thanks so much for sticking with me as this story continues—I care about it a lot, and I'm so glad that I've got y'all on this journey with me. I'll see you next week!


	32. Starlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas Eve: good times and the (start of) exchanging gifts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how I managed to write a Christmas (eve) chapter in September and _still_ have it come out late, but here we are. Thank you for your patience! 
> 
> Thanks most especially to my beta, who had to read a fragmented mess of a chapter and answer _so many continuity questions._ (Everything from different characters' names, to room layouts, to gift ideas...seriously, they're the best.) There might still be some mistakes, because this chapter was a lot, but there are way way less than there would've been otherwise. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Hiyori genuinely hadn't thought much about the upcoming holiday. He'd get some rest, some peace and quiet, and he'd be spending time with his parents. He'd thought about Christmas shopping for them, and that's about it. But then Ikuya tells him about the conversation he had with Hiyori's parents, and he has to reassess. 

He never would've expected that Ikuya would go to this much trouble for him, and is even more surprised that his parents agreed. Not that he'd ever considered whether they'd be fine with it or not—it just would never have occurred to him to ask. They don't seem bothered by it at all, though—even when they're unable to organize a plane and a hotel until the 23rd, when term ends the 22nd and Ikuya and Natsuya had been planning to leave for Iwatobi then. Ikuya invites him to come along with him anyway, though, to Hiyori's surprise. Apparently his parents have cleared that, too. 

Hiyori's parents don't seem surprised or bothered when it comes up. "You go ahead," his father tells him, smiling. "Have fun with your friend. Your mother and I haven't had a night on the city in a while; this is a golden opportunity." 

Hiyori's mom makes an embarrassed face, but Hiyori just laughs. "Sounds romantic," he says cheerfully. "Have fun." 

Hiyori's mother pats with fake aggression at her husband's arm. "Don't be embarrassing," she tells them both firmly. 

His dad returns the gesture comfortingly. "You're the only one who's embarrassed, dear." 

Hiyori hides a grin at the both of them. "I'll be fine," he promises. "Ikuya told me that his mother already agreed. His father won't be able to make it this year, unfortunately. I've only met his mother a few times before, so this is really nice of her." 

"It is," Hiyori's mother agrees. "If we bring a gift from us, will you pass it along?" 

"Of course," Hiyori says. 

"Good," Hiyori's father said, and gives his mom a look. "Now we just have to _get_ one." 

"Hush, dear." 

* * *

When Hiyori considers it further, he's surprised to find that the news of his trip doesn't change his plans for the holidays very much—because he hasn’t had very much in the works _to_ change. He hasn't exactly reached out to see who was around to spend time with or anything.

To hear Ikuya tell it, half of the people he knows from Iwatobi are headed back there anyway, and apparently Nagisa is planning some sort of party for Christmas Eve. Hiyori hadn't really realized how many of his current friends come from his long-ago hometown, but a lot of them do, mostly due to Ikuya’s influence.

That leaves the Hidaka kids in Hiyori's book club. By reading through the group chat, Hiyori realizes that most of them are planning to head home for New Years, if not Christmas. Most of the foreigners will be gone almost the entire vacation.

Sam hasn't said anything specific, though, so a few days before leaving Hiyori reaches out to ask about his plans.

 _It took a while to decide, actually,_ Sam messages him back, but my family wants me to come back. Plus there's some stuff I need to get around to, if I'm going to be staying longer than this year. you know how it is

He does, a bit. Hiyori remembers all the work that went into figuring out moving back to Japan with Ikuya; he wonders if university is easier or harder.

 _I'll get you something,_ Sam promises next. _Miss anything from the States?_

Not much, not consciously. Still, Hiyori thinks it over. _Cheetos?_ He’d thought the ones in America were abominably salty at first, but then when he’d come back the ones in Japan tasted almost sweet. Ikuya might scold him for eating unhealthy snacks if Sam does bring him some, but it’ll still be worth it. 

_lmao, roger_

_You don't have to, though. I hope you have a good holiday_

_you too. we won't be ignoring each other all break though, right? time zones'll be hell, but we can still share pics and stuff. If you want, that is_

Hiyori looks down at the message, surprised. He hadn't really noticed up till now, but Sam's messages have been a little more sporadic lately—he's starting fewer conversations and contributing less to the group chat, though he'll still respond when he has something to add, whether it's information, a reaction image, or a punchline. It hadn't occurred to him whether he might be feeling less confident, for whatever reason, but he hasn't heard him this tentative in a while.

 _Of course,_ he answers. _You may need to remind me, though._

Hiyori isn't sure if he's imagining the sigh that comes across in Sam's next message. _I'll do my best._

Hiyori makes a mental note to find things to take pictures of in Iwatobi. It shouldn't be too hard; it's really different from Tokyo.

* * *

The last week or so of term pass cheerfully enough, going back and forth between flurries of activity, time with his family, and periods of rest.

Hiyori has catching up to do with his professors, and it makes him feel intensely awkward and embarrassed at first, but his professors are mostly kind and even the ones that aren't give him clear ways to make up his work. He's grateful enough that he's perfectly willing to sit in his dorm or the library during practices and study.

Ikuya, on the other hand, doesn't always approve of what he's doing. He wants Hiyori to rest and relax, keeps checking in to make sure he's eating and sleeping regularly, and generally asking a lot of questions that Hiyori isn't used to being on the pointed end of.

It's...actually a little cute, at first, because Ikuya only remembers to ask the questions in sudden small clusters of several hours' worth at a time, the worry coming out all at once as soon as he thinks about it. He's not good at remembering to eat and sleep for himself, either; this sort of concern is new for him. Hiyori tries not to be too obviously amused at his efforts; he's also never going to admit to Ikuya that if any of this experience teaches him to be a little more aware of healthy habits, it might—almost—be worth it. If it weren't for Ikuya, Hiyori would be a lot worse at keeping a relatively healthy schedule, too.

It's ultimately humbling, though. Hiyori's held on as best he could for years, but by a few weeks in he notices that not only is Ikuya falling into a routine with him when they're together, he sends messages at almost exactly the same times when they're apart. He lets it sit for a few days before asking what's going on, and Ikuya only looks a little embarrassed before he admits he has a schedule.

"I'm...not good at keeping track of things," he admits, "but I thought if I thought about it like a training routine, then maybe I'd remember better."

He looks a little awkward as he admits this, and Hiyori can understand that. It feels...a little weird to know that Ikuya's all but set a clock by him, checking in by habit like he's a necessary chore. But, well, it's working, and it's not like Ikuya's just going through the motions, either. However he's remembering to check in on Hiyori, he's doing it wholeheartedly.

Hiyori asks to see the schedule Ikuya has going. It's bare-bones, but it gets the job done, much like most of Ikuya's plans. They talk about that for a little while, and then Hiyori sets a few alarms of his own. Most of them will be turned off over the holidays, when Hiyori doubts he’ll have anything near a regular schedule, but they’ll be nice to come back to in January, and it’s a good thought overall. 

He'd underestimated how weird it would be to go back to classes—even for just over a week—without swimming as a part of his routine. He still schedules his life around a lot of it, mainly because Ikuya's there, but it's mostly become extra study time, and he finds that as he recovers, he starts to get antsy. He looks into it, talks things over with Ikuya, and switches to slow, careful workouts a couple of times a week when he'd normally be watching Ikuya from the sidelines. They tire him out more quickly than he would have expected, but they feel good, too. By the time vacation comes, he knows that he's going to miss the school gym.

Hiyori can understand where his father's coming from about Christmas presents too, honestly. A month ago, if asked, he'd have figured he'd be spending at least part of the New Year's holidays alone in the dorms, though he hadn't been sure how long (or whether) Ikuya would be going home. Now he's going to be seeing his parents _and_ Ikuya over the vacation, which makes him wonder about presents. 

Christmas gifts are less of a tradition in Japan than they are in America, but they've all spent enough time overseas to be aware of the tradition of exchanging gifts. Hiyori's parents made sure to get him a few small gifts every year after moving to the states—mostly, he suspected, so he wouldn't feel left out—and Ikuya's father had been sending Christmas gifts back to Japan for as long as he'd been working in America. 

It's a little weird to be getting presents for his parents as a kid, it seems like, but he's practically an adult now, so he'd like to give something nice to his parents, if he can find it. And then there's Ikuya, who's practically family already, not to mention the fact that Hiyori will be staying at his house over the holidays. 

He doesn't have to give them presents, maybe, but he'd kind of like to. 

That's easier said than done, though. It's one thing to happen to see the perfect thing for Ikuya a few months before his birthday, or see a Mother's Day display and pick something out for his mother, but with only a few days to spare and the distance between campus and any real shopping centers, it's a little tricky to get anything picked out. It's not a very long shopping list, really, but he would really have appreciated more time to check off everything on it. 

He manages to find gifts he's reasonably happy with—some local specialty teas for his mother and (at his mother's suggestion) a new card-holder for his father, but...nothing seems quite right for Ikuya. Hiyori is probably overthinking it—he's never known Ikuya to complain about things he's given, and Hiyori doubts that Ikuya will think twice about Hiyori getting him something.

Still, though...he wants it to be something special. 

In the end, he isn’t able to find anything in Tokyo before he needs to leave. He promises himself that he’ll find something in Iwatobi somehow—maybe he can get his parents to take him shopping for last-minute gifts while he’s staying with them—and tries not to let it bother him too much. 

* * *

Natsuya, it turns out, was the one in charge of travel planning for the four of them (including Nao), and this means their main leg of the trip is a night bus. Ikuya complains about this more than Hiyori does, but Hiyori appreciates that it's a cheap enough mode of travel that he can pay for it easily enough out of his usual monthly budget, especially since his parents had covered all his medical bills and he hasn't exactly been using it for anything else this month. 

Ikuya is less pleased. "We could've gotten trains. Or a plane. Or a _day_ bus." 

"This is the most convenient when you think about it," Natsuya tells him sagely. "Besides, it's the experience of the thing. You'll see." 

Ikuya rolls his eyes at this, but it's too late to do more than climb onto the bus. Hiyori follows him to their assigned row, letting Ikuya get settled in the window seat as he stores his own luggage. (There's still no present for Ikuya inside, unfortunately, but at least he can't break, lose, or reveal something he hasn't found yet. He'll have to ask his parents to take him shopping again when they arrive, though he's not sure what he'll be able to find in Iwatobi that would be better than in Tokyo.)

He plunks down into the aisle seat and gets a grin from Natsuya, who's peering at them from between the backs of the seats in front of them. Nao waves at them, too, the edge of his reflection just visible from Hiyori's perspective of the window. 

The bus driver starts talking before they can say much more, and Hiyori settles in, spreading the blanket over his legs and watching the sign at the front of the bus go over the information about their destination and the stops they'll be making on the way. Ikuya has his headphones on already, staring blankly out the window at the bus stop, but Hiyori's used to him tuning out during travel. He'll pay attention for the both of them. 

There's something about a bus rumbling to life beneath him, the initial slow jerk and lazy roll of the bus as it pulls out of the station and into city traffic, that feels profound somehow. Hiyori settles in and absorbs the feeling of departure, catching glimpses of the city outside for as long as the curtains stay open, and then removes his glasses, letting himself fall into a light daze, leaning back against the headrest and closing his eyes. 

He drifts a bit, not fully sleeping, until the first rest stop. Ikuya, beside him, has his eyes closed and remains still, so Hiyori puts his glasses back on climbs out alone to see what the traveling center has. He'd packed a few snacks beforehand, but hadn't bothered to get drinks; now he goes to one of the vending machines in the main building and grabs a couple, then explores the convenience store further down just because, keeping an eye on the time so he gets back to the bus well before it's scheduled to leave. He comes back pleasantly chilled, appreciating the blanket more than he had when he left. He thinks he catches Natsuya looking at him on his way back to the seat, but it's too dark to tell for sure, and the rest of the bus is forbiddingly quiet, so he says nothing. 

He's expecting to fall more fully asleep by the time the bus makes its second rest stop, several hours later, but it turns out he's miscalculated. After so long in the hospital doing little other than resting, followed by Ikuya actually monitoring how much sleep he's been getting, he's more well-rested than he's probably been since...oh, possibly middle school or so. That's probably why he can't manage more than a light doze sitting up, and seems to wake up every single time the bus stops, or acts like it's going to stop, or even makes a particularly noticeable turn. As they move from flatter countryside into mountain roads, that starts to happen much more often. 

He's tired, but clearly not enough to actually drift off, so there's no point in complaining about it. He tries to space out even if he can't sleep fully, with mixed success. He might even have drifted off for real once or twice; he can't be positive. 

At one point, when he looks over, Ikuya has removed his headphones—Hiyori has to squint to be sure, in the low light—and is staring out the window. 

He debates with himself for a moment, but it'd probably be weirder for Ikuya to catch Hiyori watching him than it is to get his attention. He nudges Ikuya as gently as he can, and is grateful when Ikuya doesn't startle. 

He leans forward, very aware of how quiet the rest of the bus is. He hasn't put his glasses back on to check the time, but he knows that it's so late it's early—what Sam would probably call _ass o'clock in the morning_. "You're awake?" he asks. 

Ikuya answers in a low voice. "Couldn't sleep. I could've told aniki this would happen." 

Hiyori makes a sympathetic grimace that he's not sure Ikuya can see. "That sucks." 

"You're awake too," Ikuya points out. 

"I'm too well-rested lately," Hiyori whispers back, leaning in to be understood, and Ikuya leans away a bit, rubbing at his ear. "Sorry," he hisses, less voiced but loud enough to pick up.

He's surprised when Ikuya leans towards him and gets close to his ear instead. "It's fine," he breathes. "It's just...we've been going through mountains the last few hours, I think. I've got..." He shifts beside Hiyori to rub at the side of his head. "...maybe some swimmer's ear or something. The elevation changes are messing with it." 

Hiyori grimaces harder. Growing up swimming means that neither of them is unfamiliar with that particular problem, though thankfully it's happened less frequently as they've gotten older. "That sounds annoying." 

"It'd be fine if I could sleep through it," Ikuya grumps quietly. "Thanks to aniki, I can't." 

Hiyori glances at the seats in front of them, but they seem to be still. Nao has a pillow between him and the window and is pressed up against it, from what Hiyori can see; judging by the slice of Natsuya's back between the seats, he's using Nao's shoulder or upper arm as a pillow. It doesn't really seem particularly comfortable, but then again, it seems to be working for them. 

It also gives Hiyori an idea. "If it'll help, you can lean on me for a bit," he offers, shyly. "I don't mind. Might be easier to sleep that way." 

"Hm." Hiyori sees the thoughtful hum more than he hears it, a faint huff stirring the shadows beside him. Then Ikuya shifts, scooting down and over a little in his seat and resting his head against the curve of Hiyori's shoulder. 

Hiyori stays still, trying to exude calm relaxation, and after a few moments, Ikuya relaxes further. "You're right," he whispers to both their laps, not moving. "The warmth is helping. Thanks." 

Hiyori lowers his chin a little to answer. "Good." He adjusts a little, trying to find an angle where he can keep Ikuya steady in his current position even if he drops off himself, and soon enough finds a position that will hopefully work for both of them. Then he settles in, willing himself to be a relaxing presence in hopes that Ikuya will be able to come close enough to sleep that his ear stops bothering him. 

This means he ends up paying a lot of attention to Ikuya's breath, the way that each inhale and exhale subtly shifts his weight against Hiyori. He feels the moment when Ikuya takes a single, deeper breath, and then goes just a bit more limp against Hiyori. He knows that particular sign from countless sleepovers—if Ikuya isn't fully asleep, he's much closer to it than he was before. 

Relieved, Hiyori looks at the sliver of night sky through blurred vision, half his attention on the warm body pressed against his side. He doesn't sleep very much—his positioning isn't quite stable enough to hold up for sleep, it turns out. But it's still relaxing—deeply comforting, somehow—to have Ikuya next to him, seemingly sleeping peacefully. 

Hiyori sits still and savors every breath. 

* * *

By the time the bus arrives at Iwatobi, it's well past sunrise. Hiyori would suspect he hasn't slept more than a few hours altogether, but it's amazing what being regularly well-rested can do; he's barely tired, instead feeling hyped-up on a weird mixture of excitement and nostalgia, seasoned with nervousness when he spots Ikuya's mother waiting in the main building of the bus station. 

She greets them all happily, hugging Natsuya and Ikuya and smiling warmly at Hiyori as they exchange polite bows. 

It’s not a long drive from the bus stop to Ikuya’s house. Said house looks big on the outside and a little smaller on the inside. Hiyori gets the brief impression that it's quiet as he steps inside, but Ikuya and Natsuya's voices fill it up immediately. 

Ikuya's mother comes in behind them, moving silently in a way that somehow draws Hiyori's attention instead of avoiding it. "Welcome," she says, a little late, and sets her bag down hurriedly by the door before heading for the kitchen. "I'll make some tea, and you can start unpacking. Hiyori-kun, you'll probably have to sleep in Natsuya's room, I hope that's all right..." 

"That's fine," Hiyori says, and then glances over at Natsuya. "Sorry to intrude." 

"Price I pay for not living in a closet," Natsuya says easily. "Besides, I bet you snore less than Ikuya does."

"I do _not_ snore," Ikuya protests reflexively. 

He doesn't snore _often,_ in Hiyori's experience, but he's seen these two interact often enough to know that's not the point. "I hope I won't be too much trouble," he says neutrally. 

"He's more trouble than you," Ikuya mutters to him, intentionally loud enough for Natsuya to hear. "Come on I'll show you my room." 

Hiyori doesn't protest, following Ikuya down the hall and up a staircase and down another hallway. Ikuya moves with the ease of long experience, hefting his bag around corners like it's no big deal. 

Ikuya's room isn't _quite_ a closet, but it does look fairly narrow, especially because fully half of it is taken up by a long, narrow bed, lofted up to Ikuya's chin with drawers and storage underneath. It has the distinct look—and smell— of a room that was dusty for a while and has only recently been freshened up to be occupied. All the drawers that Ikuya opens, when he starts unpacking in slightly jerky, extremely efficient motions, are all empty.

Hiyori won't quite hit his elbows if he turns in the room too fast, but he slings his bag off carefully anyway. He sets it in the narrow gap between the foot of the bed and the door. 

"You can unpack if you want," Ikuya says, gesturing at the bed. "There's plenty of room." 

Hiyori shakes his head. "Thanks, but I'm good. When I'm back after Christmas, maybe."

"Suit yourself," Ikuya says, and starts doing so himself. Hiyori takes the opportunity to look around.

It really is a pretty simple room. There's posters of swimmers on the walls, a desk with mostly textbooks on the shelves, a set of hooks near the door where they've hung out their jackets, and that's about it.

Hiyori would go check out the books, out of misplaced curiosity if nothing else, but Ikuya's kind of in the way. He can see why it'd be difficult for two people to share this room, for sure.

His eye catches something else. "Cute," he says without thinking.

Ikuya looks up and follows his gaze to the ceiling over his bed. "Oh right," he says. "I'd forgotten about those."

There's a handful of glow-in-the-dark stars stuck on the ceiling over Ikuya's bed.

"I put those up...the summer before I came to the States, I think," Ikuya says, off-handed. He sounds a little embarrassed, but seems to be trying to ignore it, so Hiyori just smiles and doesn't point it out. "I'd been having trouble sleeping, and they gave me something to look at."

"They're pretty cool," Hiyori says.

"Mnh." Ikuya shrugs. "I tried to make some constellations, but it was kind of just a mess. I thought about taking them down, but I'd already gotten used to having them there."

"I see." Ikuya's always liked stars, it seems like—or at least, he has ever since he wished on one. Hiyori doesn't really recognize the constellations that Ikuya was trying for, but that doesn't mean much; he doesn't know as much about them as Ikuya does.

Seeing them gives him an idea, though, or the start of one. He looks away, crouching down and starting to get out his thinks for the night. It's mostly an excuse to keep his thoughts to himself. If Ikuya saw the smile he's wearing, he'd ask what Hiyori's thinking, and he'd rather not spoil the surprise.

* * *

He keeps quiet about his idea during the night spent in Natsuya's room, and through the morning he spends with Ikuya's family. His father hadn't been able to come back on such short notice, but Ikuya's mother tells them that he'll be calling in the evening, and again on Christmas day.

It's a mostly quiet morning, with them eating breakfast and Natsuya retreating to his room. Ikuya and Hiyori hang out in the main room, as Ikuya's room is a little narrow to socialize in comfortably unless they're sharing the bed. It's easier to sit where they can see each other.

Ikuya's mother comes in with tea for them a few hours before Hiyori's parents arrive, and they chat for a little bit. Hiyori's never really talked with her much, certainly not in the last few years. She's a quiet woman who seems pleased every time Ikuya turns a smile in her direction. Hiyori tells her about their campus life and, after the third or fourth time Ikuya complains about him volunteering too much information, he finally caves in and starts explaining things himself. They don't talk much about Hiyori's hospital stay, which he appreciates. Things aren't quite...normal, because a lot of this is very new to him. But it's _comfortable_ here, more comfortable than Hiyori would've thought he could feel in someone else's home.

He's still happy when his parents arrive, and he packs his luggage into the back of a rental car for a short drive to their hotel. That's not because he wants to leave, though—it's because he's eager to finish his Christmas shopping. He has some ideas that he wants to pursue as soon as possible.

His parents willingly leave him to his own devices after they drive to the shopping center together, giving him a time to meet up and reminding him to take his phone off "do not disturb" so that they can stay in touch with him. Hiyori agrees and then sets out. He needs a present for Nagisa's party—apparently there's going to be a gift exchange game—and Ikuya's present, which he finally has an idea for.

He had worried for a little while over whether he should get Ikuya a present at all, but in the end, he'd decided there was no point in overthinking it. He wants to, and that's all there is to it. Besides, he has a good idea now—something Ikuya might actually be able to use and enjoy, if he can just find the right thing.

He does some searching on his phone, still trying to work out details. The more he thinks about it, the less he thinks his idea will work. He checks a few department stores for what he wants, but comes up blank. Art supply stores come next, but there's only one of those, and while it has a version of what he's looking for, he was hoping for something more detailed.

He doesn't have time to order it online and have it arrive in time for Christmas, so he's almost resigned himself to it when another idea occurs to him. He makes a note of where he is in the art store to come back if he needs to, and then checks the electronics store further down in the shopping center instead. It takes him a while to find what he's looking for, and some of the employees he asks seem utterly lost at his request, but he finally finds what he's looking for in a corner of the children's section. It's not the very top-end of what he's looking for, but it's good enough. He asks them to gift-wrap it at the counter, and hopes that Ikuya will like it.

* * *

The party begins just after dinnertime on Christmas Eve. 

Even used to American houses, Hiyori's impressed by the size of Nagisa’s. The inside is even more impressive, if anything—it looks like something out of a magazine, and has been decorated very thoroughly to meet the theme. Wreaths and garlands have been hung up along the hallway, and a few miniature Christmas trees and stand-up Santas are standing on side tables and the corners of counters, all leading down to what seems to be the living room. 

"Welcome!" Nagisa says excitedly, throwing his hands in the air as soon as he's gotten the door open. "Come inside! I've been waiting for everybody to get here!" 

"'Everybody?'" Ikuya asks. Hiyori's preoccupied with getting his shoes off as quickly as possible, because Nagisa is literally bouncing up and down right outside _genkan,_ waiting to chivvy them down the hall. "I thought you said we were starting at 4:30." 

Nagisa chuckles. "I enlisted the rest of the swim club to help!" he says. "They've been here a few hours already." 

"Yes, we have." Rei comes around the corner and strides down the hallway, coming to a stop before bowing formally. "Kirishima-senpai, Toono-senpai. It's been a while." 

"Hey," Ikuya says, nodding back at him. "You don't have to call me by my last name, you know." 

Rei goes red, even as Nagisa nods in agreement and pouts at him. "That's right, Rei-chan! This is supposed to be a party! Relax a little!!" 

Rei sighs, but he looks more flustered than anything. "That's..." He swallows. "Fine. Ikuya-senpai, Hiyori-senpai, how have you been?" 

Hiyori has his polite smile ready, but it's not hard to smile at Rei. "We've been all right," he says. "I haven't been back to Iwatobi since I was a little kid. It's a little surreal to be back here." 

Rei looks startled. "I didn't know you used to live in the area! Whereabouts?" 

"I'm not sure I could find it now, unfortunately." 

Hiyori takes refuge in talking with Rei, who is apparently a master of small talk, as Nagisa chatters happily with Ikuya, going a mile a minute. They convene back into a big group when they arrive at what appears to be the party area; there are a few people inside already—a handful of people, all but one of whom he's pretty sure are still high schoolers. There's a couple boys, one taller and one shorter, and a couple of girls, one tiny with dark hair and one a bit taller with dark red hair. 

And then there's Rin Matsuoka. 

Hiyori feels his shoulders spread as he straightens, intentionally relaxed and projecting calm. "Thanks for having us," he says to the room at large. 

He sneaks a glance at Ikuya, who has definitely noticed Rin's there. His shoulders are up and he's frowning slightly, but he echoes Hiyori without any problems, and scans the rest of the room carefully. 

"Oh," Rin says. He turns from where he's sprawled on one of the couches, apparently discussing something with the girl Hiyori suspects is his younger sister. "Hey. Let's see, Hiyori and Ikuya, right?" 

"Yeah," Ikuya says. "Been a while." 

"No kidding. Nagisa said you'd be coming." He gestures at the table. "Help yourselves. There's more waiting in the kitchen, so no need to hold back till the others get here." 

Ikuya nods and sits diagonally across from Matsuoka, not objecting when Nagisa perches on the arm of the chair next to him. It feels more like latent rivalry than it does any animosity, which is a bit better than Hiyori was expecting. He’ll take it. 

There’s another ring at the door, and Nagisa bounces back into the hallway. A moment later, Kisumi comes in, looking surprised but excited about the number of people in the room. 

Spotting Ikuya and Hiyori, he comes over. He gives Hiyori a high-five and plants an elbow on the back of his chair. "Glad you could make it, dude." 

"Yeah, you too." Hiyori scans the room as a thought occurs to him. "So how many of the people coming do you know?" 

"Maybe half," Kisumi says, laughing. "Nagisa-chan was just so enthusiastic, I couldn't say no to him, you know?" 

"He's that sort of person," Hiyori agrees. Nagisa, who’s bounced off to another part of the room, still laughs like he’s heard what they’re saying. 

"Well, no big deal," Kisumi says. "I'll just come hide behind you and Ikuya if I get nervous." 

Hiyori laughs at that, because they both know the opposite is much more likely to happen, at least in his case. "Feel free," he tells him.

Rei bustles over to them. "Have you met our other club members?" he asks, indicating the younger people in the room. 

Kisumi shakes his head. "Will you introduce us?" 

And so that's how they meet Ayumu, Shizuru, and Romio. The first two are pretty quiet, but Romio's lived abroad before, which Hiyori hadn't been expecting. Though Romio doesn't really remember New York, he's visited a few times and knows more about the eastern United States than Hiyori, so they're able to talk about that for a little while. 

They're also interested in what he has to say about swimming in general, and especially about continuing as a college student. Hiyori gives them as much information as he can. It's a little startling how distant high school seems; it doesn't feel like less than a year ago, he knew almost as little as the first-years in front of him. It's kind of nice to know he has valuable information for them, and he lets himself get into it, finding out about their recent progress and talking a little about Shimogami's training regimens as well as their academic requirements. They won't need it for a few years yet, but at least they seem to find it reasonably interesting. 

(Even if Ayumu seems like she could already pass the intro-level physiology class on her own, and Gou _definitely_ could and then some. Hiyori isn't totally sure what's going on there, but from the way the boys get a slightly long-suffering look when she starts rattling off the names of different muscle groups, it's been going on for a while. He's not sure he _wants_ to know, if he's being entirely honest.) 

The next time he looks up from that conversation, it's because a new knot of people are coming into the room, and it seems a few more had snuck in before that without him noticing. Natsuya and Nao have shown up, and Nao seems to be charmed and amused by Nagisa’s antics. 

“It’s kind of you to set all this up,” Nao says. “Doesn’t your family mind?”

"Nope! My parents are out on a date and my sisters won't be home till the day after tomorrow," Nagisa chirps. "So as long as we clean up after, we can party as much as we want!"

This is not entirely reassuring. Hiyori looks around for anyone else who looks the slightest bit phased by this, and is relieved—and, admittedly, a little bit alarmed—to find that Rei looks distinctly unsure about this turn of phrase. On the one hand, Hiyori no longer fears he's the odd one out, or the only sane person in the room; on the other, as one of the people closest to Nagisa, shouldn't Rei be _used_ to this sort of thing?

Nagisa explains about the preparations he’s made and the different games and activities he has planned, and then ropes Rei in to helping him with bringing the snacks out of the kitchen. Then there’s a brief interruption as Rei and Rin leave to go find Sousuke, Rin complaining loudly about his terrible sense of direction, and Ikuya relaxes a bit as they head loudly out the door. 

They come back with Sousuke between them, looking sheepish. He’s the last to arrive, so there’s a round of introductions; Hiyori knows a fair number of names by this point, which helps, and thinks he might even be able to remember a few new ones. 

After that the party starts to dissolve into smaller groups as it starts in earnest, people grabbing snacks and drinks and chatting in smaller groups. Kisumi wandered off a while ago, and is still animatedly introducing himself every time he gets the chance. Hiyori latches onto Rin for a bit, asking about Australia and offering his experience of living abroad in America. They discuss their impressions of Natsuya a bit, and then talk a little about food, classes, and the stranger parts of living abroad. He's initially just hoping to head off a possible problem if Ikuya were to get jealous again, but Rin's actually pretty interesting to talk to, and he finds that he appreciates Rin's sense of humor.

By the time their conversation winds down, Sousuke and Ikuya are sitting close to each other, talking quickly, completely absorbed in their conversation. From the snatches of what Hiyori can hear across the room, they're talking about training regimens. Hiyori excuses himself as Rin wanders over, looking interested. He watches long enough to make sure that Ikuya and Rin are getting along—they both seem engrossed in the topic at hand, which is good—and starts looking for somewhere else to make conversation. After all, he doesn't want to float around looking pathetic until somebody rescues him.

Makoto and Haruka are sitting with the underclassmen, who appear to be both a little awed and basking in their presence. Makoto does most of the talking, while Haru looks on, but they both seem happy with that arrangement. Hiyori considers joining, but they're too cute to interrupt.

Kisumi is now sitting between Aiichiro and Nagisa, trying to field multiple questions about college life at once. Hiyori can probably help with that, so he goes over and listens to the conversation, eventually offering his two cents and being welcomed into the circle.

Nagisa and Aiichirou are really sweet and eager, but there's a steadiness hidden underneath that comes to the surface when they're talking about their club members. Hiyori wonders if that's an effect of leadership. When he asks about their work as vice-captain and captain of their respective teams, Nagisa happily explains all about his plans, some of which he picked up from his predecessors and others of which are entirely his own. Aiichiro is more bashful, quicker to back up everything he says with group consensus and the team captains that came before him, but his assessments of his juniors' skills and what they need to focus on are confident and unwavering. 

Kisumi doesn't have very much to add to the swimming side of things, but he praises them both for being such good leaders, and Hiyori happily joins in. Aiichiro goes pink and even Nagisa looks bashful for maybe half a second. It's cute how they take their praise seriously, even though in a year they'll be exactly where Hiyori and Kisumi are now. Hiyori can't help but hope that at least one of them ends up at Shimogami. He suspects Nagisa will be aiming for Hidaka, but Aiichiro might be more willing to consider it as an option.

Eventually Nagisa bounds into the middle of the room and claps his hands loudly. “ _All right, everybody!_ I hope you brought your presents, because it’s time for the gift exchange! You all remember the rules, right?” 

There’s a chorus of assent as everyone goes to retrieve their wrapped, unlabeled presents. Ikuya and Hiyori had both brought gifts for the game, Hiyori getting his during his earlier shopping trip and Ikuya and Natsuya both, apparently, repurposing something they'd left behind in their house before leaving for college. 

Haruka draws the card to go first and, without fanfare, goes straight for a suspiciously cylindrical package. 

“Haru-chaaaan, unfair!” Nagisa cries, as he unwraps a long stack of mackerel cans in assorted flavors. “You can’t pick your own present!” 

“I didn’t,” Haruka insists, deadpan. “This is someone else’s.” 

A laugh runs around the circle as Nagisa complainingly tries to figure out who brought the mackerel, but whoever did, no one’s admitting it. Personally, Hiyori’s money would be on Makoto, but if he’s the culprit, he’s not admitting it. Maybe it’s someone else—Rin?—or maybe Makoto has hidden depths. 

The game continues. Rei admits to contributing the quite nice stationery set that Nagisa holds onto it for half the game, trying (badly) to hide his boredom and disappointment about. No one else seems to want it, so Hiyori steals it on his turn. They both look gratified, and he congratulates himself on a choice well made. 

Then Nagisa repays his kindness by starting a fight for an oversized Iwatobi mascot doll (Gou's contribution, apparently) that escalates almost to blows as the various students and alumni of the school fight for its honor. Hiyori cannot understand the appeal of the thing, but Ikuya’s got a distinctive look on his face that says he’s more drawn to it than he wants to admit. 

Ultimately, Nagisa does manage to keep it, and Ikuya goes from skeptical to delighted when he takes a large poster with an ocean motif on it from Sousuke and no one else seems inclined to take it away from him. 

Hiyori is quite happy with his stationery set, thank you very much. He wonders if it'd be too awkward to send a letter to Rei with it sometime. He's not sure who else he'd write letters to, and he kind of suspects Rei would be the sort of person to get excited over having a pen pal.

When the game ends, Nagisa brings out an entire tray of miniature Christmas cakes—bûches de Noël and strawberry _daifuku_ and small coconut-frosted snowballs and cupcakes decorated to look like smaller versions of a classic Christmas cake, with white frosting with strawberries on top. They look fancy and kind of expensive, and Nagisa seems pleased with himself for providing such nice desserts. 

They aren't all high school boys anymore, but they descend on the snacks with just about as much enthusiasm as they would have a year ago. Ikuya, predictably, goes straight for the one that looks like it has pistachio cream frosting, and Makoto looks enthusiastic about his oversized _daifuku_. The Matsuoka siblings go for matching tortes, and resolutely ignore anyone who points out that they match. Aiichirou's taken one of the strawberry cupcakes and looks absolutely delighted, and Sousuke seems to have taken one of the matcha cakes with chestnuts on top. Overall, there's a wide variety of preferences, which seems to work out for everyone involved. Nagisa can't have planned that, but it's a lucky thing. 

Hiyori hangs back until most of the rest of them have chosen and finds himself standing next to Haruka, looking through what's been picked over. There's at least one of the strawberry cupcakes left, and a bûche de Noël, and Hiyori knows what one he wants but doesn't want to take it if Haruka wants it. 

Unfortunately, when he's peeking over, he catches Haruka doing the exact thing as he is. 

Somewhere, Hiyori thinks he hears the shadow of a giggle. He resolutely ignores it as he tries to figure out whether he and Haruka are going to have to negotiate their cake preferences. 

"Hm," he says carefully. "That bûche de Noël looks good...which do you, Haruka?" 

Haruka blinks at him, and then shrugs. 

Hiyori manages not to sigh—outwardly, at least. "Okay, I'll take that, then, if it’s all right," he says, and grabs it, getting out of Haruka’s way. 

He glances over his shoulder to see Makoto come forward and start encouraging Haruka to choose. Maybe he just doesn't like sweets all that much. That would make sense. Now that he thinks about it, it's a little surprising that Nagisa doesn't have some sort of mackerel cake stashed away somewhere...but then again, mackerel aren't in season right now and fish isn't much of a Christmas thing, as far as Hiyori knows. 

He retreats to a corner near Ikuya, who doesn't look up in favor of preventing even the smallest bit of frosting from his cake escaping his fork. He catches a glimpse of Haruka biting into the strawberry cupcake, looking very deadpan about the whole situation but somehow satisfied. 

Hiyori's own cake is light sponge cake and fluffy filling, surrounded by thick, stiff frosting dusted with powdered sugar—a little sweet for his taste, but fine every once in a while. He digs in and enjoys the flavors playing across his tongue.

* * *

When Hiyori's dad leaves the hotel to pick him up at 10, as they'd decided on before he’d dropped Hiyori off, the party's still going on. Apparently most of the current Iwatobi swim club is staying overnight, and Nagisa's wheedling as many of the others to stay as he can. Ikuya turns him down, as he's heading home with Natsuya and Nao, and so do Makoto and a lot of the others. Still, a couple of others, like Aiichiro and Kisumi, seem to be considering it.

Hiyori leaves as the rest of the group is still chattering, trying to figure out their plans for the rest of the night. He's surprised and a little pleased when Ikuya stands from where he'd been sitting next to Sousuke and walks him out.

"So...uh," Ikuya says.

"Thanks for inviting me," Hiyori says, because he gets the feeling Ikuya might be about to thank him for coming, and that feels kind of wrong, this time. "This was great, seriously. You have really cool friends."

Ikuya smiles. "Right. Cool. I'm glad." He pauses, pushing his hands into his pockets. It's chillier out in the hallway than it was deeper in the house, and Hiyori's already pulling his coat on, but Ikuya's just in his thin sweater and looks a little cold. "I'll...see you tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah," Hiyori says. Their parents have made plans to go to the next town over and see the illuminations. "Till then, though...Merry Christmas, Ikuya."

Ikuya nods and grins. "Merry Christmas, Hiyori."

They stand there for a moment, looking at each other and smiling, and there's something awkward about it, like there's something Ikuya is waiting for Hiyori to do. He's not sure what, and his phone buzzes before he can figure it out.

He pulls it out and sees the notification that his dad is waiting outside. "I'll see you soon," he says, and starts to turn towards the door.

He freezes when something presses up against him from behind, solid and warm and breathing in his ear. "Bye," Ikuya says, a lot closer than he was a moment ago.

"Hey," he says, laughing a little. "What's this for?" Is that what Ikuya wanted, a hug? That's adorable.

"Early Christmas present," Ikuya mumbles, voice muffled against his shoulder. "Shut up."

"That's sweet, thank you," Hiyori says, and turns in Ikuya's arms to return the hug himself. Ikuya's sweater is very soft and his shampoo smells warm and soft and familiar.

"You're welcome," Ikuya says, and then steps away, pushing at his arms. "Bye," he says again, and then turns and heads down the hallway without a backward glance.

Hiyori knows that hunch to his shoulders, and if the lights of the hallway weren't low, he suspects the tips of Ikuya's ears would be visibly pink.

_He's so cute._

The thought rings so strongly in his head that there's not really any room for anything else as he shuts Nagisa's front door carefully behind him and hurries down to the street, where his father's idling his rental car at the curb.

He thanks his father as he gets in, then sits silently in the darkened car, watching the headlights spread across the road in front of him. It's dim and quiet, soothing after hours of competing voices. There's soft Christmas music playing on the radio, warm and sappy and very, very familiar—the sort of thing he got sick of weeks ago, but that is somehow tolerable again now, this particular time of this particular day.

Against the dark, quiet road, pictures and voices come to mind—moments that he'd been too overwhelmed to fully notice at the time. He did okay, today. He actually liked most of the people there—they were kind, and interesting, and admirable.

Once upon a time, he hadn't thought anyone but Ikuya was worthy of paying attention to, not really—or no, that's not quite right. He hadn't thought _he_ could see the good in anybody else. He'd found something he finally cared about, someone he could build his life around, and he'd been so scared that it was the only exception he'd ever come across that he'd shut everything else out harder and harder, through the years. He was so, so scared that aside from Ikuya, there was nothing but boredom and loneliness. No goals, no dreams, no hope. No love.

But...he'd liked everyone, today. He'd been wrong. He'd undervalued the world, and even more so, he'd underestimated himself. There are a lot of people out there he can like. The people today are just some of a list that's getting longer all the time—a list of people out there who are teaching him how to care.

He wants that to last beyond this one magical evening. He wants to hold onto it on the cold mornings and the dark nights, no matter what happens with him and Ikuya, no matter what people might say or do to him in the future. No matter how bleak or lonely the world gets, he'll know he has this. He'll know that there _are_ people that, if he just meets them, he'll end up liking things about them and wanting to get to know them better.

He doesn't want to overthink it, though. He'd rather just enjoy the memories.

The song on the radio ends, and switches to advertisements. His dad looks over at him. "Did you have a good time?" he asks, warm and curious.

Hiyori smiles. "Yeah. It was nice."

"Good." He pauses, then chuckles awkwardly. "Sorry for dragging you back to be with us. We aren't very interesting."

"No, it's fine," Hiyori says. "I like family Christmases. It's nice we get to be together this year."

"Me too," his father says. "Your mom and I...this means a lot to us, too. I hope you know that."

Hiyori nods. It's easy to forget, too easy, so it's nice to hear it. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, I'm really glad you're here."

His father chuckles, though Hiyori isn't sure what he's said that's funny, and falls silent again. Hiyori peeks out the window and watches the stars, looking for constellations he can recognize. He finds a few before they reach their destination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I...kind of gave up on names this chapter. Everyone's on a first-name basis now, it's fine. They're friends.
> 
> Notes: 
> 
> I don't know if Japan has white elephant gift exchanges very often, but maybe Nagisa got the idea from Rin or someone. It was too cute an idea to pass up. 
> 
> Christmas cakes are a big deal in Japan. [Here](https://www.moshimoshi-nippon.jp/252502)'s an example of some higher-end ones, but just about every convenience store has an entire catalog of cakes of various sizes available to order weeks in advance. 
> 
> (It probably won't come up in the story, but do Natsuya and/or Nao have a cute picture of Hiyori and Ikuya sleeping on each other on the night bus? Probably.)


	33. Harbor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas day, and a few days after. (Also, cuddling.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild warning late in this chapter for brief unreality, flashbacks and depictions and discussions of illness. (Not as bad as stuff in previous chapters, but some of it references it.) 
> 
> Big thank you to my beta, whose moral support got me through two chapters of some of the most second-hand embarrassment I've experienced in this fic so far. XP I hope this chapter is worth the wait!

Ikuya wakes up on Christmas day unaccountably sore—probably from _lack_ of exercise, annoyingly—and frustrated for reasons he can't name. It's early, so early it's almost dark. He always used to wake up early on Christmas; when he was still a little kid, he'd sneak over to Natsuya's room and they'd wait together for it to be early enough. Partway through middle school, Natsuya had started complaining that Ikuya was too impatient, and Ikuya had taken to fidgeting around his room silently, waiting for a sign that someone else was up first before getting up. 

He would have figured, after the late night of the party, that he'd be woken up by one of the others. Natsuya had been up as late as he had, but he had the feeling his brother was used to late nights and parties, more so than Ikuya himself. It had been a long, busy, fun night, and by the end of it Ikuya's voice had gone hoarse from talking and laughing and he'd been filled with the kind of exhausted energy that only many happy hours in a row can cause. 

Despite his late night, though, the house is awfully silent for that to be what's happening. He sits up and rubs at the side of his head, wincing. 

Last night was a lot of fun, enough to distract him completely from the bad ear he's been fighting off, but first thing in the morning there's no way to ignore it. That's probably a pretty significant part of his bad mood, since not many other possibilities are coming to mind at the moment. 

He doesn't exactly have to be afraid of being seen as childish, anymore, and even if he did he's got an excuse to be up and about. He pads out of his room and into the bathroom, getting peroxide onto a cotton swab and then into his ear with the ease of years of practice. It still sucks, cold and painful and way-too-loud against his abused eardrum, but it'll help fix it in the long run. Ikuya takes a couple painkillers for good measure—more for the sake of closure than anything; he expects the pain to fall out of his attention as the day gets busier—and steps back into the hallway. 

He's on his way back to his room, mostly by reflex, when he hears the clink of cutlery downstairs, just loud enough to carry up the stairs in the stillness. He considers for a moment, and then heads quietly down the stairs. 

His mother is setting a cup and saucer down on the table when he comes down. "Oh. Good morning, Ikuya." She catches herself, smiling. "Merry Christmas." 

He smiles back at her. "Merry Christmas." 

"I haven't started breakfast yet," she says, gesturing at her tea. "I was thinking something like pancakes might be good, but it could take a while, so—”

"It's fine." He ate a ton last night, and isn't very hungry. "Is there any hot water left?" 

"Yes." 

"Thanks." He fetches one of his old favorite mugs from the cupboard, grabs a teabag, and fills it with the remaining hot water on reflex, refilling the kettle and flipping the switch before he realizes what he's doing. It's like a little fragment of his middle school self rising to the surface, a side of himself that he never thinks about but that always turns up when he's back in the house he grew up in. 

Sitting across the table from his mother in silence, just for company, though—that's new. Much less on Christmas morning. It feels special, somehow, and Ikuya sips at his tea and looks around. The room still has a faint chill that means that the heater wasn't turned on till a little while ago; steam rises from their tea mugs in matching ragged swirls. It's just barely too hot against his tongue, which means it's basically perfect. 

He looks over at his mom and sees that she's smiling at him. "I probably said it before, but... I'm glad you're back, Ikuya," she says. 

It's a little odd to say something like that several days into a visit, but then, it is Christmas...and maybe she isn't just talking about his visit. He's not sure, though, so he just nods and smiles. "I'm glad to be back, too."

"I've been meaning to ask," she says. "How has university been? How's the college team? And when did you reconnect with your elementary school friends? I heard a little of what you talked about with Natsuya and Hiyori-kun, but I feel like I missed a lot of it." 

Ikuya thinks. A lot's changed in only a few months. That's normal for starting higher education, probably, but it hasn't all been related to that. It's kind of a lot. 

So he starts small and simple, and talks through his first two terms of school on a quiet Christmas morning. 

It's odd, talking so peacefully about being miserable and angry and scared. That wasn't all of his year—thankfully, he thinks he manages to get that across—but he realizes that much of what he's glossing over is feelings like those. That he was so lonely he hadn't even realized it'd been destroying him from the inside out, even with Hiyori at his side, and that it was his own failure to reach out that had kept things that way. That he'd tied himself up in knots of resentment and unacknowledged remorse, so tight that he couldn't save himself without help from Haru and the others—and yet at the same time he'd shut himself from them. He'd left himself stuck and thrashing for purchase, but refused for so long to reach out and ask for anything. 

They'd saved him from that. They hadn't had to, and they'd barely even known that Ikuya needed it, because he'd tried desperately to lock his feelings away from them, but that hadn't stopped them. They—Haru especially—had just kept living and growing and _caring_ , so much so that when they'd come across him again, they'd just...known what to do. Even when Ikuya himself hadn't. 

He wants to learn how to do that. He doesn't just want to connect to get things from others—he wants to be able to _give_ , to have something to offer to other people the way that they gave so freely to him. 

"I'm glad you get to spend time together again," is all his mother says, about Haru and the others. She says it the same quiet way she's said a lot of things, over the years, in a way that had honestly bothered him when he was younger, with how trite it had seemed. It doesn't seem that way anymore, somehow. 

"Yeah," he says. "I've missed them," and that's it. That's true. That's the whole thing wrapped up in a neat package. That's...maybe half of what he's spent his spare brainpower on, after swimming and the small sliver that goes to his studies. 

The other half...belongs to Hiyori, lately. He could get into that at some point, but...some parts of it are a little fresh, still, a little dark for this bright peaceful morning. Besides, he's pretty sure he hears footsteps on the stairs. So all he says is, "Hiyori's getting along well with everybody, too." 

His mother smiles and nods, and then turns to the door as it slides open and Natsuya steps in. "Hey! Good morning! Were either of you going to wake me up, or what? It's Christmas!"

Ikuya rolls his eyes, but their mother just laughs. "Merry Christmas, Natsuya."

"Merry Christmas, mom. Merry Christmas, little bro."

"...Merry Christmas, aniki."

Natsuya slides into his usual chair, and their mother stands up and goes back to the kitchen. Natsuya is excited about the idea of pancakes, but he seems to be even more excited about something else. "Hey, so I was thinking—they're still doing that big illumination in that big park a few towns over, right? The one we went to when we were kids?"

"Yes," their mom says, frowning down at her bowl. "I think so, anyway. I'm pretty sure I saw posters near the station this year."

"We should go!" Natsuya looks between them, excited. "What do you think? Do you want to?"

Ikuya shrugs. He doesn't remember very many details about the Christmas light exhibition he's talking about—there had been wire frames in a bunch of shapes wrapped up in tiny lights, and lots of gardens that had been converted into a canvas for light shows, and usually a few festival booths with typical winter offerings. He hadn't been particularly excited about things like that since he was a little kid, though.

"That sounds nice," comes floating from the kitchen, and there's a sizzle of batter falling into a pan. "We haven't been to a big illumination like that one since you two were children—not together, anyway. We can get some pictures to send to your father. Were you thinking of going tonight, Natsuya?"

"Well, that's the other thing. I was gonna invite Nao, if he doesn't have anything planned, and like..." Surprisingly, Natsuya turns to Ikuya. "Think we could get Hiyori and his parents to come, too? You got them out here, after all—might as well take advantage of it."

Ikuya blinks. Theme park tickets are a little expensive, but he's never heard Hiyori mention his parents complain about money or anything, so... "I...could try, sure. I'll ask Hiyori first if they already have anything planned."

He pulls out his phone and sends Hiyori a quick message, and then pauses, annoyed with himself, and sends another message: _Merry Christmas_

Halfway through breakfast, he feels his phone buzz at him. Hiyori doesn't know about any plans, and asks why Ikuya's asking. They talk it over and decide when they might leave, and Ikuya passes the information along.

By the time Ikuya's finished the dishes, there's a plan more or less in place, and his heart is lighter than he would have expected.

"Okay, great!" Natsuya says, and then gives them a silly, eager look. "So...uh...I know we're a little bit old for Santa Claus, mom, but well...I brought some stuff, so we should open presents!"

Ikuya sighs. "How are you older than me? You could've just given her something without angling for anything back."

"That's not what I meant!" Natsuya protests, and then adds, "Do you want your present or not?"

"Oh, you actually got me something?"

He’s being more sarcastic than anything, but Natsuya replies seriously. "Of course! What do you take me for?"

"Boys..." They shut up quickly enough—it wasn't really an argument, and judging by her smile, her mother wasn't really worried. "That would be lovely, Natsuya," she says. "Let me go get my things, too."

It turns out they all have presents for each other. Natsuya and Ikuya have brought gifts for their father, too, both of them conscientious enough to get something but not thinking far enough ahead to figure out how to mail them internationally. Their mom laughs at this and texts their dad about it, and they set up a video call, with their mom's phone on its small built-in stand at their dad's place at the table.

Natsuya and Ikuya had managed not to get their parents repeat gifts, thankfully. Natsuya got a new travel mug (he'd complained about losing his a few months ago) and a toiletry case from their parents, and Ikuya was given a new wallet, a brand matching his father's that he knows is on the expensive side, and a reusable bottle from a brand he's fond of.

Ikuya carefully hides his smirk as Natsuya opens the gift he'd bought him. "You got me an...is this a wireless earpiece?"

"Mm-hm," he says, affecting indifference, and shoots Natsuya a dry look. "I thought it might be convenient. You should call mom more often."

There's the unmistakable sound of stifled laughter from their mother's end of the table.

"That's a good model," his father comments blandly, and Ikuya shoots the phone a look; Natsuya doesn't need to know that he'd actually looked up something sturdy, with a good battery life and sound quality. It's not like there was much point to getting him something if he wasn't going to _use_ it, but that didn't mean he wanted to seem like he was trying too hard.

"...Huh," Natsuya says, and then chuckles. "Point taken, little brother. Anyway." He passes a lumpy parcel across the table. "Here. From me."

It's soft enough to give under his hands. Ikuya opens the gift from a seam in the wrapping and lets its contents slide out . "A...scarf?"

"There's a hat in there, too," Natsuya says, ever-so-slightly defensive. "And gloves."

Ikuya lifts up the scarf, inspecting it. It's a royal purple, interwoven with faintly silvery white strands in a pattern that's complex up close, but should look subtle from a distance. It's as soft as it is yielding, almost silky against his fingers, and warms up quickly against his skin.

The hat doesn't have a pompom or anything garish on it, thankfully—it just folds up around the edges, like a normal winter hat. The gloves... "Are these mittens?"

"They fold back to fingerless gloves, I think," Natsuya says. "You've got those smartphone gloves, right? But you basically never use them. I see you take them off to text all the time."

He doesn't bother with gloves very often at all, really, but it's still a fair point. He folds back one of the mittens and sees fingerless glove holes. When he slides his hands in, they're thin enough that they don't get in his way, but still warm his hands slightly, even indoors.

Given his brother's own fashion sense, it's amazing he found anything even this tasteful. "Thanks," he says, and re-folds the scarf and hat, setting them to one side.

With gifts over, there's not much to do for the rest of the day. They find a radio station that plays Christmas music, but Ikuya and Natsuya get sick of it and Natsuya puts some of his own music on instead. Ikuya gets out his homework and works on that for a while, mostly as an excuse to ignore Natsuya when he gets annoying. They have some more Christmas cake after lunch, since they'll be eating dinner at the festival booths; it's another tradition that Ikuya had half-forgotten until their mother brought it up.

He goes upstairs in the afternoon and double-checks that the gift he's found for Hiyori is still there. It was kind of an impulse buy, and he doesn't know a lot about it, but the gift he'd prepared in Tokyo just...hadn't seemed like enough, somehow.

This had jumped out to him while he was wandering the downtown shops for the rest of his last-minute Christmas shopping, before he'd given up on finding a reasonable gift exchange present in Rei's detailed price range. (In the end, he'd just grabbed something from his room that he didn't need anymore and then pretended he hadn't been following Natsuya's example.)

He doesn't want to overthink it, so he just puts the wrapped package into his messenger bag and brings it downstairs.

* * *

They leave before sunset, because it's almost an hour's drive out to their destination. This passes in relative peace; Ikuya puts on his headphones for a bit when he realizes that he's already heard the Christmas song they're playing about five times in the last three days, and Natsuya dozes off in the passenger seat.

Nao had elected not to come, so Ikuya, Natsuya, and their mother meet Hiyori and his parents in the parking lot outside the illumination, about an hour after the sun sets. Hiyori's wearing his regular winter coat, hands in his pockets to keep them warm, looking a little apprehensive but mostly eager. They all exchange slightly awkward greetings and head in a little knot toward the path into the park.

"Oh, Hiyori," Natsuya says, and he, Hiyori, and Ikuya hang back from the adults near the entrance to the park. "Before I forget—Christmas present."

Ikuya and Hiyori both stop and blink as Natsuya fishes a bundle out of his bag and hands it over.

"Thank you," Hiyori says politely, clearly on autopilot. It's a little funny, but Ikuya's distracted because both the shape of the package and the paper look familiar.

"Go ahead and open it," Natsuya says, looking pleased with himself.

"Oh! Okay." Hiyori opens the package a little less neatly than Ikuya had, and a bunch of fabric is revealed. It's hard to tell in the low light, but it looks like it might be green. The pattern, however, is very familiar—it's the same as the one Ikuya has on his head and draped around his shoulders right now. 

"You can use them right away if you want, it's a cold night," Natsuya says, sounding smug.

"Did you get us matching scarves?" Ikuya demands.

"And hats and gloves!" Natsuya says, looking pleased. "Oh, wait wait—"

Fishing into his bag again, he comes out with another bundle of fabric, this one apparently some shade of yellowish gold. "See?" he says, looping the scarf messily around his neck and jamming the hat onto his head. "We match!"

Ikuya gives him a flat look. "You got one for yourself too, then."

"Of course! It's not like either of you would know to get it _for_ me!"

" _Why_ did you get us these, aniki."

"Come on, they're practical!" Natsuya protests. "Besides, I figured it'd be a way to show Hiyori he's part of the family."

Ikuya facepalms. "We're here _with his parents._ "

"So? You can't have too many honorary siblings!" Natsuya frees the hat from the bundle in Hiyori's hands, and immediately tugs it onto his head. Ikuya privately hopes that Hiyori will push him off, but of course has no such luck. "There! See? Here, let's take a picture and send it to Nao. Come here, Ikuya."

Ikuya sighs, but doesn't bother resisting when Natsuya gets a handful of his jacket and reels him in for some blurry, very poorly lit selfies. The sooner Natsuya gets what he wants, the sooner this will be over, after all.

As Natsuya steps away, laughing a little at the streakiness of the photos, Hiyori steps up to him. "Thanks, Natsuya-kun," he says.

Natsuya reaches up and rubs at Hiyori's hat, like he's messing up his hair underneath. "No worries, dude. I mean it, you better get used to the honorary little brother treatment, you've had it coming for a while."

"Run while you can," Ikuya deadpans, and Natsuya outright laughs.

"Yeah," he continues, "it'll be nice to have a _chance_ at a younger brother who actually appreciates me. And remembers to call, and _almost_ keeps healthy habits without having to be reminded, and—"

"Hey—" Ikuya has so many protests there that he doesn't really know where to start, not least that he's recently figured out that Hiyori really, truly doesn't fit that last qualifier, but he's cut off by Hiyori's laughter.

"Thanks, Natsuya-kun," he says. "Sorry I didn't get you anything. I'll get you back on your birthday if you give me your address."

"You don't have to get me _back,_ Hiyori. It's a present."

"Still," Hiyori says, and his voice is warm. "Thank you." He doubles up the scarf and knots it in one smooth motion at the base of his throat, and pulls the gloves onto his hands.

"You're welcome," Natsuya says, sounding pleased and warm. "Now, we should get going! These lights aren't going to look at themselves."

Their little group breaks apart pretty quickly as they come to the main part of the display, and Ikuya doesn't really bother keeping track of where anybody goes; they all have fully charged phones and have agreed on a place to meet near the exit when they're ready to leave. There's few enough people that there's plenty of room to take their time and absorb the sight of the thousands and thousands of pinpoints of light surrounding them, forming archways and animals and abstract shapes. He's aware of the lights and, dimly, of Hiyori at his side, and that's all.

Ikuya's breath comes out in faint clouds that are gone a split second after they appear. There are brighter, normal lights near the food booths, but he steers clear of those and instead heads in the direction he's pretty sure he remembers from when he was a child.

Hiyori speaks as they're walking down the footpath, but when Ikuya turns to look, he's not looking at him. "This is beautiful," he says quietly.

"Yeah," Ikuya agrees. "I haven't been to one of these in years—not a big one, anyway."

"I don't even remember the last time I went," Hiyori admits, and Ikuya looks over, surprised.

"Not at all?"

"Well, no," Hiyori admits. "It was probably when I was really little, when we used to go visit my grandparents. My parents were usually pretty busy over the holidays, and their only days off would have been really crowded. We did other stuff, like New Year's, but...not this."

Ikuya's quietly grateful that Natsuya had thought to invite Hiyori to come along. "Follow me," he says. "I'll show you my favorite place."

As he tugs Hiyori down a gentle slope with a geometrical grid of pure white fairy-lights, he hopes the spot he remembers will still be there. Once he catches a glimpse of the twinkling reflections he's been waiting for, though, he turns, leading Hiyori down a gently curving path until most of the main exhibits are a good distance behind them.

Then, he waits till he sees a low structure, just a few planks stretched in a grid over a bench. They're in luck; no one's this far out, and so Ikuya leads Hiyori down to the bench, which has an unobstructed view of the park's lake.

Hiyori takes a slow, amazed breath, and sits on the bench without looking. "This is..."

"Yeah," Ikuya whispers, sitting down himself. The night is calm, and so the water is almost completely still, perfectly reflecting the lights across the water. Fantastic shapes and their mirror images sparkle in sync across the lake, and the lights on the overhang complete the illusion that they're completely surrounded by the tiny lights.

It's like being alone in a field of stars, quiet and peaceful and expansive enough to get lost in.

They sit there in silence for a long time before Hiyori stirs. Ikuya looks over, gently startled by the movement, and Hiyori bites his lips.

"I actually, uh...I don't know if this is the best time, but it seems like as good a time as any, so...do you want your Christmas present?"

Ikuya stares at him as—after that long, magical moment— his mind reaccustoms itself to dealing with words. "...Sure."

Hiyori reaches into his bag and pulls out a medium-sized, almost perfectly square box. "It isn't much," he says, and passes it over, before twisting his hands in his lap.

Ikuya throws a disapproving look at those hands, but then focuses on folding back the mitten-tops of his gloves so he can get the wrapping off the box.

It's almost as mysterious with the paper off; it's been printed dark, with little spots and a name written in text that doesn't show up well in very low light.

Hiyori seems to sense his confusion. "It's not quite the same as physical stars on your ceiling," he says apologetically, "and it's not very powerful or anything, but it's got actual maps of the stars, and it's easier to set up in a dorm room, probably. I just thought..."

He pauses, and Ikuya looks up from the box to see Hiyori looking at him intently. "I thought...this way you can see the stars whenever you want. Even if we're in Tokyo."

Ikuya holds the box closer. "You're right." He's more than a little at a loss for words at the thoughtfulness of this gift. He isn't sure how to express what he's feeling, and when he tries, all he can manage is, "This is...thanks."

Still, somehow, Hiyori smiles like he understands. "You're welcome."

"I have something for you, too," Ikuya begins, and then grimaces. "Okay, I got two things, which is dumb, but I had to leave the first one in Tokyo, because it wouldn't travel. I got you another cactus."

Hiyori looks delighted. "Thank you so much, Ikuya! That's really sweet. I can't wait to see it."

"It's whatever," Ikuya mutters, embarrassed. Hiyori found a way to give him _stars_ , and he got him a _cactus_? Even if he's put up with Ikuya all these years, which probably means he's got some sort of affinity for prickly things, it seems like a meager gift in comparison. "There's this, too."

He hands over a long, narrow-ish box, and Hiyori turns it over curiously in his hands before pulling off the paper.

"Oh!" he says, sounding pleased. "This is a French press!"

"Yeah," Ikuya says, and goes on, "I...don't really know about coffee, but I know you like it, and this is something you use to make it, right? Something different from just using the instant stuff and adding water, I mean."

"Well..." Hiyori turns over the box in his hands, leaning in for a moment before realizing it's too dark to read any of the writing on the box. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure," he says, and smiles. "I can't wait to try it out." He reaches out and pulls Ikuya into a half hug, squishing Ikuya's shoulder gently against his ribcage. "Thanks, Ikuya. Merry Christmas."

Now that he's thinking about it, Ikuya remembers to look up at the night sky, too. The Christmas lights surrounding them wash out the stars a little, but it's nowhere near as strong as the lights of Tokyo. The dark land around them leaves room for a wide, deep field of stars overhead, richly detailed enough to rival the beautiful exhibits below. He blows out a breath, long and low and awed, and then smiles up at the sky.

"Merry Christmas."

Eventually Ikuya's stomach rumbles, and Hiyori laughs out something about going to the food booths before they close. It's only when they both go to retrieve their presents and put them in their bags that Ikuya realizes that his hand had been resting atop Hiyori's upturned one, fingers tangled together casually until they just as easily slipped free.

His hand and his face are the warmest parts of him as they walk back the way they came.

* * *

On the twenty-seventh, Hiyori's parents leave, and he comes back to stay at Ikuya's house for the rest of the holiday.

Ikuya feels more conflicted about it than he would have expected. On the one hand, he's been looking forward to having Hiyori around—especially since he's been stuck around Natsuya for _days_ at this point, with only his mother as a buffer, and somehow Natsuya's usually more tolerable when Hiyori's around. On the other, though...

Ikuya and his mom meet Hiyori at the regional airport, where his parents are getting ready to board a flight that will take them back to Tokyo. From there, they'll take an international flight back to America. They each have a carry-on, a personal item that perfectly match domestic and international specifications, and though they're dressed casually enough to travel comfortably, there's a professional edge to them somehow, like they're very used to doing what they're doing.

Hiyori, meanwhile, also seems perfectly at ease, or at least as relaxed as he ever lets himself be—he double-checks their gates and flight times and asks about all their plans on the way home, but he does so with a gentle smile and nothing more intense than curiosity, edging into concern. Ikuya watches, for once able to escape Hiyori's notice pretty easily. It's obvious to him that Hiyori is sad, and trying hard to hide it. He can't really tell what specific details he's seeing to make him so sure; he just knows.

What he doesn't know is whether Hiyori's parents can see it, and something about their manner really rubs him the wrong way...at least at first. It's not till Ikuya sees the way Hiyori's mother clings to him for a moment or two too long, saying goodbye, that he realizes that what he'd thought was stiffness was probably discomfort, that some part of them isn't sure about leaving.

They don't have a choice, not really—and if he's being honest, part of him is happy to be getting Hiyori back from them, though it's too selfish a thought to admit to anyone else. But still, he can't help but feel a little bad for them. They hadn't been the ones to decide their child would live in another country, separated from them—Hiyori had made the choice to come back to Japan himself.

Still, he feels worse for Hiyori, because he can't help but remember a lonely, wide-eyed kid who'd never admit that his parents weren't around as much as he wanted.

Hiyori's put up a brave front all the way through the check-in line and through the goodbye hugs, and as parents turn to wave one last time before disappearing into the security screening, that front doesn't falter. Hiyori shyly thanks Ikuya's mom for letting him stay, and gets a warm welcome in return. He seems a bit flustered by this, so Ikuya sidles up next to him and gives him a firm nod.

_You're okay,_ he wants to say, but doesn't quite want to say it _here,_ in front of so many people and also his mother. Hiyori knows that already, and he's allowed to be sad; besides, Ikuya would rather not embarrass him by talking about something so personal in public. He just sticks close to Hiyori all the way back to the car, and then smiles to himself when they both climb into the backseat.

Ikuya thinks he catches his mom peering at them through the rearview mirror a few times on the way home, but the drive stays quiet. Natsuya, apparently back from hanging out with Nao, greets them when they get home, and welcomes Hiyori with a friendly clap on the shoulder.

Hiyori fits into the rest of the day remarkably well. He's quiet, matching the energy of the house itself—but somehow, Ikuya can't shake the impression that it's warmer, happier silence than it had been before Hiyori was there in it.

Hiyori takes Natsuya's bedroom, as before, and when Ikuya hears Natsuya laugh after several minutes of suspected mumbling, he stretches precariously across the room from his bed and whacks his pillow against the wall until they shut up and go to sleep. (Though it's muffled by a wall and the politeness of a conscientious houseguest, he's pretty sure he can hear Hiyori giggling.)

* * *

Hiyori's back in a hospital, and he's dying. Ikuya's trying to find him, running down hallways and turning corners, phone to one ear as he tries to quiet his breath. His chest is heaving with the effort of it, but he can only just hear the suggestion of a wrecked voice on the other end.

It's Hiyori, but Ikuya can't tell what he's saying, and then he chokes and call cuts off, and he's _alone_ —

Ikuya sits up in bed, almost hitting his head on the ceiling because he's _home_ , why is he home, what happened? Why isn't he in the hospital? He needs to see Hiyori right now, while he still can, before—

Hiyori's here, he realizes. He's here, and...he should be okay? And Ikuya was just sleeping, so maybe the dying part wasn't real. Isn't real anymore.

His head swims and he groans a bit, putting his face in his hands. His eyes are wet and irritated and too hot in his skull. He takes two deep breaths and then levers himself out of his bed, carefully climbing down the ladder before stumbling out of his room.

Hiyori's next door. He should be, anyway. He's pretty sure that's real, at least.

He has to check.

Very, very quietly, careful not to wake Natsuya, Ikuya turns the knob on the door and pushes it open a crack. There's Natsuya, apparently asleep with his back to the door, and there, on a futon on the floor beside the bed...

Ikuya pushes the door open farther and slips into the room, sinking low to the ground to creep closer to Hiyori's form, bundled up tightly under the covers. It's hard to calm his breath far enough to hear him breathing quietly in his sleep, and Ikuya's chest aches with the memory of the dream.

It feels too real, still. He doesn't like how it's left him questioning his logic, not to mention the evidence of his own eyes.

He reaches out and puts a hand on the curve of Hiyori's shoulder, where it's sticking up out of the sheets. He'd slept on his back most of the time in the hospital, but when he's had trouble getting to sleep or sleeping deeply, he curls up on his side like this.

His shoulder is warm, with a faint tension running through it even in sleep. He's very still, likely deeply asleep. Ikuya struggles with himself for a moment, then gives in and grips his shoulder harder gives it a slow shake.

Hiyori turns onto his back and his eyes open, squinting. "Hm? Ikuya...?"

"Yeah." Ikuya whispers very quietly, trying not to wake his brother. "I...can I just..."

"Hey, hey." Hiyori pushes himself up on one elbow, scooting closer. "What's wrong, are you all right?"

Ikuya's throat closes up, and his breath catches. He leans forward and hides his face in Hiyori's shoulder, forehead against collarbone.

"Hey," Hiyori breathes again in his ear. His arms immediately go around Ikuya's shoulders, drawing him in. He starts running a comforting hand up and down his back. "Shh. Breathe with me, okay? Whatever it is, we'll figure it out."

Ikuya's not sure if Hiyori thinks he's panicking, crying, or both, but the reassurance is exactly what he hadn't realized he needed. He goes boneless against Hiyori, draping his arms loosely around him in return. Hiyori huffs out a single surprised laugh as the angle of Ikuya's weight pushes them both back against the mattress.

There's a moment of instinctive shuffling, and then Ikuya's tucked in the crook of Hiyori's shoulder, still hiding his face against his chest. His heartbeat is warm and slow and _there_ , everything he wanted on some level every second Hiyori had been in the hospital. It's so satisfying to have him here, all right and finally fully in reach, and that relief wells up in hot desperation that clogs his throat and overflows as desperately muffled tears.

Hiyori holds him close, desperate and gentle at the same time, shushing him almost silently on each breath.

Eventually, some of the storm inside Ikuya eases, and he starts to deflate further, melting into Hiyori's side. He's tired and a little dizzy, and his entire head is throbbing with the effort of tears, concentrated in his bad ear. He feels terrible, making it impossible to relax fully, and as it dawns on him how _tired_ he is, he almost wants to cry again.

"Do..." Hiyori's voice is barely more than a breath. "Do you want to talk, or...?"

Ikuya shakes his head—he doesn't want to move, or do much of anything. At the same time, though, he's realizing that he won't be able to sleep without painkillers, so... "Not here. Come with me?"

He can just make out Hiyori's answering nod, and he turns away for a moment to retrieve his glasses. Ikuya pulls himself off him reluctantly. It's _cold_ and everything hurts, and Hiyori's breathing and the beating of his heart had really been helping to ground him. He shivers getting up, and his balance wavers, his shoulder brushing Hiyori's.

Without missing a beat, Hiyori puts an arm around Ikuya's waist, just far enough to help steady him, and they pick their way as silently as possible out of Natsuya's room, Hiyori easing the door shut behind them as Ikuya steps down the hallway and into the bathroom.

Hiyori joins him there as he pulls out the bottle of painkillers. "Ikuya, what's going on?"

"Had a nightmare," Ikuya mutters. There's light from the street coming through the bathroom, which is thankfully enough to navigate the bathroom by, but even that gentle light is making him squint as his head throbs in protest.

"...Okay, but what are you taking?" Hiyori takes the bottle from Ikuya after he shakes a few pills out into his palm. "Wait a second."

"It hurts," Ikuya explains curtly.

"What does?" Hiyori's looking more alert and worried, the kind of worry that drains most of the warmth from his expression and leaves him looking drawn and intent. "What's hurting?"

Ikuya grasps the pills in a sweaty fist. "Everywhere, a little," he answers honestly. "Mostly my head, and my ear."

"Ear..." Hiyori's eyes widen. "The same one as on the bus?"

"Yeah." Ikuya nods, wincing when it aggravates the pounding pain deep in said ear. "It's probably infected."

"Hold still," Hiyori says, and then puts a hand on Ikuya's forehead. "Yeah, you definitely feel like you have a fever. Can you wait to take those till we check your temperature?" 

Ikuya sighs, annoyed, but agrees. Hiyori guides him to lean on the counter, digs out the thermometer after only a little searching, and slips it into Ikuya's mouth.

When it beeps a moment later, Hiyori takes it out and winces, but his expression eases at the same time. "Okay, so you have a low-grade fever. You're good to take those."

Ikuya gives him a sardonic look for hovering, and reaches past him to cup some water in his hands from the sink. He swallows enough water to take the pills and runs his hands over his face. The rest of him is chilled, but his head feels uncomfortably overheated.

Hiyori gives him a worried look. "Think you'll be able to sleep?" he asks. "Or should we go downstairs?"

Ikuya shakes his head. "I don't want to stay up any longer than I have to. Can...can you come back to my room?"

Hiyori nods, apparently not even noticing his hesitation. "Of course."

"Okay." Ikuya rubs at his face, wondering why _he's_ the only one who seemed to find that question awkward. "Yeah, okay, cool."

He leads the way back to his room and heaves himself up the ladder—he's glad that whatever's wrong with his ear isn't bad enough to badly hurt his balance, because navigating even a low ladder while dizzy wouldn't be fun. He pats the foot of the bed and then moves out of Hiyori's way so he can climb up.

Hiyori blinks at him, looking nonplussed. Had...had he not realized what Ikuya was asking? That makes him feel better about his awkwardness before, and is also kind of funny. Hiyori's really good at putting on a front in a crisis, but beneath the surface he doesn't have it together nearly as well as he pretends to. Still, after a moment to collect himself, he follows Ikuya up the ladder and into the bed.

Ikuya's already flopped down on half of the pillow when Hiyori eases down beside him. The bed does fit them both, almost comfortably, but the pillow doesn't; Ikuya relinquishes it and instead puts his head back down on Hiyori's chest.

"I thought that was your bad ear," Hiyori's voice sounds odd and deep through the aching ear pressed against his chest. "Doesn't that hurt?"

"No." Ikuya shakes his head, just slightly. "The warmth helps."

"Oh. Well, then." A warm arm comes up and drapes over his back. "Make yourself comfortable."

Ikuya sighs, the most content he's felt since he woke up. "Thanks," he says.

He drifts off before he hears a reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I based the park with the illumination on a real place near the town that Iwatobi is based on. Do an image search of "あやめ池ウィンターイルミネーション" to see some examples of past shows. (Light shows like these are every bit as gorgeous as they look in pictures; they're one of my favorite things about winter here.) 
> 
> And that was Christmas! The next chapter is going to cover New Year's, and then we'll be officially through the holidays. Thanks so much for reading :D


	34. Steam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Okay, I'm just gonna admit it: the main point of this chapter is to be the fluffiest chapter so far. That is all.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're ready for _so much fluff_ , y'all. (Even I had to get there eventually, haha.) Also: brief mention of some...spicier subject matter in this chapter. Still well within the boundaries of a T rating, though! Feel free to leave a review if you need more specific warnings, but it's mostly blink-and-you'll-miss-it and innuendos. 
> 
> My beta yelled at me for this chapter (and had some really great suggestions for it, too) so hopefully it's enjoyable!

Hiyori doesn't really sleep after Ikuya wakes him. Instead, he stares at the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, already half-faded from hours in the dark, and frets.

It's hard not to: Ikuya falls asleep on top of him almost immediately, but he's overheated, sweaty, and restless, making small, aborted movements and occasionally small noises of distress, especially when he moves in a way that disturbs his ear. Hiyori's worried that he'll wake himself up, so he tries holding Ikuya more or less in place, running a hand down his back and then smoothing small circles between his shoulder blades. 

When he does this, Ikuya doesn't wake up, which he'd been a little worried might happen. Instead, he sighs and snuggles closer to Hiyori, wrapping one arm around his torso and effectively pinning him to the bed in his current position.

Hiyori's heart melts. Resigning himself to not moving for the rest of the night is the easiest thing in the world. 

* * *

He's not really sure when Ikuya woke him up, so he doesn't know how much time passes. The ceiling above his head eventually starts to lighten, and eventually Hiyori catches himself waking from a doze a few times, unsure of how long or deeply he's slept. He still feels oddly frozen, aware of the need not to move and disturb whatever rest Ikuya is managing to get. It takes some focus to relax enough to sleep, and sometimes Ikuya's movements compel him to start trying to soothe him again. 

Ikuya's still and Hiyori's pretty out of it himself, when there's the faint _click_ of Ikuya's bedroom door being opened.

It's only through a supreme effort that Hiyori doesn't immediately go as stiff and uncomfortable in Ikuya's grip. He hadn't considered that someone might just _come in_ , and some part of him had just assumed that if anyone was going to explain, it would be Ikuya. In a split second, thanks to the rude awakening by the huge shot of adrenaline to his system has granted him, he realizes how stupid that assumption was.

He doesn't have anything to freak out about, though, he thinks, and bravely turns his head, looking over to see a messy, blurry head of brown hair at his eye level, peering over the edge of the bed at them.

"Hiyori?" Natsuya asks. Thankfully, his voice is still low; apparently, he's realized that someone in the room hasn't woken up. "Is something wrong? What are you doing in here?"

Hiyori keeps a straight face, waving at Ikuya with his free hand. "Ikuya's not feeling great," he whispers back, holding as still as possible. "He's thinking maybe an ear infection."

"Oh." Natsuya blinks, looking surprised and then sympathetic. "Oh, that sucks. I was gonna ask if you two wanted to go on a run or something, but that counts him out then." He gives Hiyori an assessing look. "I'm guessing you're gonna pass too?"

Hiyori nods. "Sorry."

Natsuya shakes his head. "That's fine. I know you're not really cleared to do your normal level of training right now anyway." He steps back, already reaching for the door. "I'm gonna head out for a little while, all right? Let mom know what I'm doing if she asks."

"Sure. Have a good workout."

Natsuya flashes a grin at him and then heads out the door, shutting it with a slightly louder sound than he'd made when he entered.

Hiyori flinches just a bit at the noise, and then freezes as Ikuya stirs against him, chin digging into the meat of one pectoral as he turns to glare sleepily in the general direction of his door, then buries his head sleepily back against Hiyori as if in protest at the brightness of the room.

"Go 'way, aniki," he mumbles against Hiyori's chest, and Hiyori's heart squeezes.

"He's gone," he murmurs, and runs a hand up Ikuya's back. "How are you feeling?"

"Mmngh." A pause. "I think the pain meds wore off."

"Ouch," Hiyori says, genuinely, and then pauses. "We should talk to your mom before you take more though, maybe. You might need to wait till you can see a doctor." He's not really sure about that, but he figures Ikuya's mother will almost certainly know. 

Ikuya grunts again, longer and more displeased. Hiyori pats his shoulder sympathetically.

Ikuya levers himself up, arms on either side of Hiyori's head, and then freezes, staring down at him.

Hiyori blinks, wondering if he's mistaken what he's seeing, but Ikuya's face is close enough to his that he can't be looking anywhere else. Ikuya's face is red, and his expression is something intense that Hiyori can't read.

He thinks over the last few seconds, trying to recall what's happened since Ikuya woke up. Did Ikuya just consciously realize that Natsuya saw them in bed together, or...?

Then Ikuya moves off him, very gingerly, and Hiyori categorizes the physical sensations along his lower body as Ikuya pulls away from him. He gets it.

He gives Ikuya his most reassuring smile and gets up himself, carefully out of Ikuya's way. "May I?" he asks, reaching out towards Ikuya's forehead.

Ikuya closes his eyes but nods, and Hiyori brushes his bangs out of the way. They fall against his knuckles, limp and a little damp, as he tries to tell if Ikuya’s as warm as he’d felt last night.

"It seems like you might still have a fever," he says, "but it's hard to tell. I was going to go brush my teeth and everything, so I can go get the thermometer while I'm there, if you want. Unless you'd rather get dressed first?"

"No," Ikuya says, and sits back against the wall, grabbing the pillow and curling around it sleepily. "You go ahead. I'll go after."

Hiyori represses the urge to hug him, and just says "Okay."

He climbs out of the bed, straightening up fully when he's on the ground, and stretching his arms above his head. His shoulder twinges a bit, the sensation shooting up the side of his neck, a very obvious irritated muscle. He rubs at it, tilting his neck to try to stretch out the problem area.

Ikuya's voice cuts through his distraction, getting his attention right away. "Hiyori?"

It sounds a little too sharp for the way Ikuya normally calls his name, and Hiyori looks up to see Ikuya staring at him, eyes wide. He extends his hand, and Hiyori steps toward him obediently, though he's not exactly sure what Ikuya wants.

Ikuya's hand comes to rest on his forehead, but he immediately frowns. "You're sure you don't have a fever or anything, right?" he asks. "I can't tell."

Hiyori tilts his head a bit, confused but careful not to dislodge Ikuya's hand. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure," he says.

"But..." Ikuya withdraws his hand, looking confused. "Your neck."

Hiyori feels his eyes widen as he realizes what Ikuya's worried about. "Oh! Oh, no, sorry," he says hurriedly. "I just slept on something wrong—it's definitely not anything like before. Sorry, I didn't mean to worry you."

"Okay," Ikuya says, frowning. "If you're sure."

"I am," Hiyori says, nodding. "Anyway. Back in a bit." He bends down, grabs some clothes for the day, and leaves, shutting the door behind him.

He curls up on the toilet seat for slightly longer than strictly necessary, even after he brushes his teeth. There's a chance that Ikuya might need a little longer than his normal routine takes to calm himself down, and while it's possible Hiyori was imagining things, walking in on Ikuya before he's got his morning wood handled would be awkward for both of them.

(He doesn't think anything of it—really, he doesn't. It's a perfectly normal thing to happen, and if anything, it just means that Ikuya was comfortable enough to sleep deeply even when Hiyori was there. He's intensely grateful that it didn't happen to _him_ , too, though, and since it's not something they've ever talked about, he wants to give Ikuya plenty of room to avoid talking about it.)

He knocks on the door several minutes later, holding the thermometer, and Ikuya pulls it open fully clothed, hair mostly brushed into place and looking almost normal. He still takes the thermometer without complaint, and when it turns out he's got a very low-grade fever, Hiyori coaxes him into talking to his mother before deciding to keep treating it himself.

His mother also thinks that Ikuya should go to an actual doctor, which is a relief. One short trip later—Ikuya insists that Hiyori stay home, and he really can't argue the point under the circumstances—he's back with a prescription for antibiotics and a list of spoken instructions, which Hiyori makes him repeat and then writes down nearby to reference later. Ikuya doesn't complain as much as he used to about this particular brand of fussing, and even puts in alarms for his medicine without any prompting.

Within a few hours, Natsuya's left to hang out with Nao, Ikuya's mother leaves on an outing of her own, and they have the house to themselves. Hiyori worries about this a little, at first—wouldn’t Ikuya want his family nearby, at least when he’s sick?—but when they come downstairs to find the house empty, Ikuya just sighs with what seems to be genuine relief and heads for the refrigerator, poking his head in and frowning at the contents.

Hiyori joins him. "What do you feel up to eating?" There aren't very many leftover options in the refrigerator, but he's used to getting creative when it comes to Ikuya and meals.

Ikuya shrugs. "Bread, probably."

Hiyori winces, because if Ikuya's that far down on his "tolerable foods" list, it's not a great day. "You've probably got some miso soup packets somewhere, right? Let me make that to go with it." He puts a hand on Ikuya's back, pulling him away from the refrigerator. "Are the antibiotics messing with your stomach?"

Ikuya shrugs a little. "I guess. I'm just tired."

"You still need to eat something with each dose, I saw that in the warnings." Hiyori considers this, and then gives Ikuya a tentative smile, hoping he's not about to get his head bitten off. "Maybe you should go back to bed? I'll put together something quick and plain so you can eat and take your medicine, and then you can sleep for a while if you need to."

Ikuya gives him a long look, with a cranky twist to his mouth that Hiyori is unfortunately familiar with. He gets ready to compromise, but then Ikuya just nods. "Wake me up if I fall asleep," he says, and leaves, shutting the door quietly behind him. Hiyori can just hear the sound of his footsteps ascending the stairs as he starts digging into the drawers, looking for soup packets.

* * *

He puts together a bowl of soup and some plain white bread, and makes tea and hot chocolate as well, loading them up onto a tray he finds on a high shelf in a corner. This isn't the first time he's had to worry about what Ikuya will eat when he's particularly iffy about food, and he already has a mental list for when it happens.

(He goes looking, but it looks like the Kirishima household doesn't stock peanut butter, which is a shame, because then he could've made a sandwich. Peanut butter on bread or crackers is one of the only foods Ikuya usually won't complain about, even in a bad mood, but it's a lot harder to find decent peanut butter in Japan than it was in America. In high school, he'd had to go to a handful of stores before he'd finally found a reasonable brand. He still has an unopened jar somewhere in his dorm, just in case it ends up being necessary.)

When he brings the tray upstairs,

Ikuya's changed into sweatpants, a long-sleeved shirt, and slippers, hair disheveled when he pokes his head over the top of the bed. "Sorry for the bother."

"It's not a bother at all," Hiyori says. "Do you want to eat in bed?"

Ikuya shakes his head. "Just put it on the desk." He climbs down as Hiyori sets down the tray, and then tries not to hover too obviously as Ikuya plops down in his desk chair and starts methodically eating the soup and bread on the tray.

"Do you want tea, or hot chocolate?" Hiyori asks, indicating the two mugs on the tray. "Or both, if you want them, of course, but..."

Ikuya gives him a look, then reaches for the hot chocolate. "Thanks."

Hiyori smiles and takes the tea mug for himself. That's a sign that Ikuya's not feeling _too_ sick, hopefully.

Still, he looks relieved when he's done and can take the medicines sitting out on his desk and climb back into bed. Hiyori waits a minute, and then, when Ikuya sends him an impatient glance over the bed frame, climbs in himself.

He goes to sit at the foot of the bed, in case Ikuya wants to stretch out, but instead, Ikuya comes over and puts his head on his shoulder, curling up against him.

He looks down, trying to keep the surprise from his voice. "Are you cold?"

"Mm. A bit." Ikuya glances up at him out of the corner of his eye. "How’s your neck?"

"Better." Hiyori leans back, careful not to dislodge Ikuya, who seems perfectly content using him as a pillow.

"You'd say that no matter whether or not it were true, though," Ikuya says. The casual tone of his words doesn't match their content, and Hiyori can't tell whether he's actually worried.

"…Yeah, but it's not because I'm trying to hide anything," he settles on. "I just like to look at the positive."

"Hmm." Ikuya seems to accept that, if dubiously. "It doesn’t hurt at all anymore?"

"No, it doesn’t," Hiyori promises. “It’s a tiny bit stiff, but I’ve been stretching it out.”

"If you say so." Ikuya goes into a full-fledged hug, and Hiyori struggles to return the gesture at his angle, getting one arm up between Ikuya's shoulder blades and resting his cheek on the top of his head.

"You’re not normally this cuddly," he asks, indulgent but honestly a little curious, too. “Do you need a blanket?”

"No, I’m good." Ikuya tenses a bit. "I am a little cold, but...it’s just nice. To...feel that you're okay."

Hiyori sighs, slow and calm. "I really scared you, didn't I?" he asks, trying to keep the tone light.

Ikuya’s grip tightens. "It was just a dumb dream," he says firmly. “And it wasn’t your fault anyway.”

"I’m still sorry," Hiyori says, seriously. "I always thought I was so good at looking after myself, but if you hadn't been there…I never wanted you to have to go through that."

"Don't," Ikuya says. "Don't. I was. Just…if you have to be sorry, then please just get better about telling people when you need help."

Hiyori nods, though Ikuya’s only at an angle to feel it, not to see. “I will.”

* * *

For the rest of the day, more or less, Ikuya doesn't stop touching him.

It's not always a full-fledged lean, or the hugs—which, if asked, Hiyori would be embarrassed-but-willing to admit he’ll never, ever get tired of. They don’t usually last too long before Ikuya admits a little sheepishly that he's feeling hot and moves to the other end of the sofa, long legs curled so that his feet lie against Hiyori's thigh. 

When they decide to watch movies together on Ikuya’s laptop, he sits right next to Hiyori with most of his weight against the wall, but their arms brush with every breath. When Hiyori finally remembers the tea, or decides that it's time to make some soup, Ikuya trails after him, looking a little sleepy and a little lost but also like he knows exactly where he wants to be.

It's…

Hiyori's worried about admitting to himself, in Ikuya's presence anyway, that it's adorable. But it is.

If he's being honest with himself, he loves it. These hours curled up to Ikuya feel amazing, just knowing that he's there, by choice, that being around Hiyori makes him feel better when he's having a sick day. Getting to just…spend time together, nothing huge and weighty to say and no schedule constraints bearing down on them, feels incredibly refreshing. He can't get enough of it. And then there’s the way that Ikuya's old sleep shirt falls slightly to one side on him, showing a lopsided expanse of skin and one long, stark collarbone…

He doesn't let himself stare. It's best to appreciate the big picture, sometimes, rather than the smaller things.

And the other part that's reassuring is how calm Ikuya seems, as the last remnants of his paranoia fade. Hiyori wouldn't have figured that being around people who were worried about him would be so…”stressful” isn't quite the word he wants to use, but it's the closest fit. Impossible to ignore, maybe, because it certainly is that. He's used to eyes skidding over him, not staying fixed like they're looking for every little detail, any clue that something might be wrong.

They drink tea, and then, a little later, they have cocoa. Hiyori tries to study a few times, but Ikuya tends to just watch him while he does it, and he feels like a bad guest. If Ikuya were up to studying, too, it would be different, but as it is…

He offers to put on another movie, but Ikuya turns him down, and instead his head creeps closer and closer to Hiyori's lap.

Hiyori, who is currently using said lap as a place to balance his textbook while he holds his notebook in one elbow, takes a little while to notice, and then does some quick mental arithmetic to figure out how to change up their arrangement. That's if he's interpreting Ikuya's movements correctly, of course, which he's too insecure about to actually ask.

Ikuya's head is bumping against his knee, and sinking down too far into the mattress. It looks uncomfortable.

"Here," Hiyori says, and slides the textbook to his other side, lying flat on the bed. It’s harder to see that way, but Ikuya looks pleased as Hiyori pulls him up slightly, tips his head into his lap. "Better?"

"Mm." Ikuya adjusts his weight on Hiyori's thigh, and Hiyori tries to pretend that he is not blushing. It probably doesn't work too well.

The trouble is, it's difficult to get any reading done with the weight of Ikuya's head pressing into his leg. It's…surprisingly difficult, at first. And then embarrassingly difficult. Hiyori keeps trying to focus—because persistence usually gets him where he wants to be in the end—and he keeps being distracted.

He sneaks a glance at Ikuya to find that in the meanwhile, Ikuya has pulled out his phone and is staring at it, looking perfectly at ease.

Hiyori…kind of can't do anything about it now, can he. Ikuya is there, it'd be weird to tell him to move, and really he doesn't want to so there's very little point. He pretends to read for a little while longer, counting his breaths, getting used to it…and yes, he's less flustered, but indeed he's no less distracted.

He shuts his book and sets it aside, and, when Ikuya looks up at him, puts his fingers through his hair.

Ikuya doesn't startle, and doesn't even look up right away; when Hiyori's touch stays light, he looks up lazily, questioning.

"Is this okay?" Hiyori asks, lightly.

Ikuya hums an agreement, and his gaze returns to his phone.

All…right then. He takes this as a cue to start, gently, running his fingers through Ikuya's hair.

Hiyori has never had a pet. His parents were never home enough for one, and there was always the question of moving, so he hasn't had very many encounters with animals, and the ones he has had haven't lasted very long.

So it's not like petting an animal. He thinks. It’s not like the stray cats he’s gotten to play with anyway, and other than them the only head he's used to touching is his own. He tries to work gently through the tangles, occasionally brushing, then rubbing against Ikuya's scalp.

He's gentler than he would be with himself, careful of the edges of his fingernails. Ikuya's hair is a bit thicker than his, with volume but a wave that keeps his hair in strands that turn in multiple directions. It doesn't tangle easily, overall, but there are small, individual almost-tangles that Hiyori discovers.

His hair is long enough that it feels silky, no roughness at all. It's well-conditioned despite Ikuya's time in the pool, but Hiyori still finds a few dry spots in the back, turns them gently over in his fingers.

"That feels nice," Ikuya says, softly.

Hiyori bites his lip and makes himself look at Ikuya's face, instead of the back of his head. He's not looking at his phone anymore; his arm’s sprawled off to the side, holding it loosely, and he seems to be staring at nothing at all. He seems very…relaxed, and Hiyori despairs for a single quiet moment of matching that energy.

He's going to do his best, regardless.

"Yeah?" he asks, just as quiet. "I don't really know what I'm doing."

"You don't have to worry so much about pulling," Ikuya says. "My scalp isn't that delicate."

Carefully, Hiyori increases the pressure in his fingers as he pushes through the hairs at the back of Ikuya's head, finding the base of his neck and massaging a bit at the tendons there.

Ikuya hums, a bit, and his eyes drop to half-mast. Hiyori takes that as an invitation to continue.

He finger-combs over Ikuya's hair, trying to drown his awkwardness in the physical sensations of it, trying to think what would be comfortable. He has no idea if this is a normal interaction that people have, or whether he's doing it strangely. It's not something he would have particularly thought of, outside of washing someone's hair at a salon or barbershop or something. But…

Well, it's Ikuya, and Ikuya's enjoying it, and it’s…well, it's breathtaking, having him this close.

Eventually, even the inappropriate thoughts Hiyori was trying to push back—of how close Ikuya's head was, right now, to a thing it's not usually close to and how weird that was—those start to finally fade of their own volition, and Hiyori is so relieved at that that he entirely misses the threat that rises in its place, until it nearly overwhelms him.

It seems like such an innocent pleasure, touching Ikuya. It runs down his fingers in tingles and fills up his chest, his stomach. It's grounding instead of nerve-wracking, and so he doesn't even recognize the butterflies until he's buzzing with…something, something wordless and endlessly affectionate and just…happy, to be where he is, doing what he's doing.

He loses himself to it, completely. Loses himself like he does in water; loses himself between strands of Ikuya's hair. He is a pair of hands that are touching Ikuya and a chest full of light and a pair of eyes that's lost in a sea of night-dark ocean-green.

He loses track of time, until he feels Ikuya's head turn under his hands, column of his neck on the top of his thigh, eyes looking straight at him still sleepy, but oddly intent. "Hiyori…"

And he remembers that no, he has a face, and it must be wearing an expression. He recognizes the buzzing in his limbs, the humming in his ears. The face that he's forgotten about is hot, his cheeks hurt a bit from the heat and the smiling, and he can't remember how long it's been, can't remember if he's been doing something strange…

Ikuya's hand is cool on his cheek, on his skin. Ikuya is touching him back, and Hiyori feels something like electricity run through his whole body, and he doesn't want to admit where it ends up, because _no, not now_ —

And he's aware that he's being looked at and time is coming back in again, making him wonder how long he's been at this, making him wonder what made Ikuya turn. He's being observed and he doesn't know what he's supposed to be, he's lost track, Ikuya is going to—

Ikuya's hand brushes against his face, and Ikuya's staring up at him, looking a little lost, like he doesn't know what he was doing, either.

Hiyori chuckles. "How's that? Feeling any better?"

Ikuya stares at him for another long moment, before lowering his hand and sighing. "Yes," he says. "You're good at head massages, Hiyori."

"It might be more beginner’s luck," he admits. "I think I might want some more tea soon, though. Can I get you anything?"

"Tea's fine," Ikuya says, but takes a long moment to roll up and off of Hiyori's leg. He slumps onto the bed and sighs.

"You all right?" Hiyori says, getting up slowly. He rubs at his neck a bit, chasing a lingering hint of stiffness, and Ikuya looks up at him.

"Is your neck still sore?” 

"Just stretching it out," he reassures him. "I'll be back in a minute."

He sets the water to boil, ducks into the toilet, and then stares at himself in the mirror, trying to will himself back to a sense of normalcy. The buzzing in his head has died down, a bit, but he doesn't think he can blame this spaceyness entirely on a night without much sleep. A part of it is…whatever that had been, earlier.

Ikuya let Hiyori just...touch him like that. He’d done it last night, of course, but it's different when Ikuya is awake and _asking_ , not needing. Hiyori doesn't know why it would be, though, and is a little suspicious of the emotions that Ikuya's request bring up in him.

He presses his hands to his cheeks, rubs them, his eyebrows, the bridge of his nose.

He’s almost positive he’s blowing it out of proportion. Ikuya is sleepy and sick, and cuddly, and that’s all.

Maybe, Hiyori reflects, he's just not used to cuddling. Depressingly enough, that's probably it. Did Ikuya do this with his friends in middle school?

Something about the thought doesn’t feel good. He's sure that if Ikuya's mimicking the sorts of things middle schoolers do with each other, his doubts about it are even as inappropriate than he’s been worrying they were. 

But the thought of the Iwatobi Middle School team draped all over each other like small, gangly kittens is incredibly charming, too. It's a mental image that makes him think that maybe he can do this.

He goes back to the kitchen and pours the tea. He times it in there, watching the way his breath eddies the steam over his mug. Ikuya is probably wondering what’s taking him so long, but Hiyori pretends, for a little bit at least, that he doesn't notice. He thinks about cats cuddling, dogs curled up at someone's side, about late nights and horror movies and fireplaces and other cozy things.

If Ikuya wants to do this sort of thing, he wants to do it right, after all.

He comes back into the main room, though, to see Ikuya sitting up. He's not on his phone anymore, but he looks more alert, perhaps a little restless.

Hiyori is suddenly terribly averse to the idea of crowding him. What if he's misread something? Did the window of opportunity for cuddles close before, and he's about to push things?

He sets the tea down, sits a cautious few inches away from Ikuya. Ikuya watches him.

"The tea’s steeped, but I’ll give it a few minutes to cool down before I bring it up here," he says, automatic, and…tries his best not to smile, dammit, Ikuya doesn't need reassurance right now because that would be admitting that Hiyori thinks something's happened, that he's nervous. He swallows, trying to move past the awkwardness as quickly as possible, and asks, "Are you still cold?"

Ikuya looks him over. "Are you?"

Hiyori thinks about it. "A little?"

"Really?" Ikuya's eyes are still on him. "You seemed a little flushed, before."

"I was okay," Hiyori protests.

"Oh. That's good, then." Ikuya settles into his seat, and asks, eyes serious, "Do you want to trade places?"

Hiyori feels his eyes go wide. "Huh?"

"I mean." Ikuya looks away. "I, uh. You did it for me, so...I thought, maybe, with your neck and everything…"

"Okay."

Hiyori blurts it out before he can change his mind, in the tiny rush of confidence that comes out of seeing Ikuya looking unsure of himself. There. He's committed, and now he can't back out of it, so the only thing left for it is to get through this naturally and do his best not to actually explode, or have a heart attack (or another seizure) through sheer nerves.

Ikuya sits back, gesturing for Hiyori to sit in front of him and then waiting patiently until he does. Hiyori tries not to sit _too_ straight, or to glance back over his shoulder to see what Ikuya’s doing. 

Instead, he just tries not to jump when Ikuya’s hands land on his shoulders, and then the bed shifts beneath them as he sits on his heels to get a bit of leverage. 

When Ikuya’s fingers move beneath the collar of his shirt, Hiyori suppresses a shiver; they feel red-hot against his skin for a brief second, though he’s not sure whether that’s the fever or just his own high tension.

Ikuya presses his thumbs against either side of his spine at the base of his neck, and then kneads in a small, hard circle. "I was wondering this before," he says, contemplative, "but you have kind of tight shoulders, don't you, Hiyori?"

"Hm? I guess," Hiyori says.

"I hear them pop a lot when you stretch them," Ikuya says. His hands run back down Hiyori’s shoulders, as low as the deltoids, which he squeezes at thoughtfully.

"Okay, that does occasionally happen," Hiyori admits.

"Can I try massaging them a bit, maybe?" Ikuya asks. "I've heard people carry a lot of tension in their necks and shoulders, and it can cause headaches. Or, you know, neck pain."

At this point, anything Ikuya suggests Hiyori is willing to try. He feels warm and sleepy and impressed with Ikuya's hands, his determination. "Sure."

Ikuya rubs broad, light circles against Hiyori’s back, like he’s trying to get a feel for the muscles underneath. "Try to relax, okay?"

"Shouldn't be hard," Hiyori says, and does his best to straighten his spine and drop his shoulders as Ikuya pushes himself up into a kneeling position.

He’s wrong about that, though: Hiyori discovers fairly quickly that his shoulder massages are without mercy. Ikuya can't see his face at his angle, and he takes full advantage of this, grimacing as he feels Ikuya's hands digging into the points behind his shoulder blades.

He waits for it to lighten, but it doesn't. Ikuya eventually grunts, "Your muscles are really tight," and Hiyori starts to feel a little bad for him.

That, and it feels like he might be starting to bruise in a few places (and even though he probably isn’t, it _hurts_ ). So he coughs and pulls forward a little bit, apologetic.

"Actually, uh," he says, eloquently, and Ikuya stops, those unforgiving hands suddenly warm and supportive on his shoulders. "I think there might only be so much you can do, and…it kind of hurts now."

"Oh," Ikuya says, and runs his hands over Hiyori's shoulders in apology. "Sorry. You should've said."

"You were making such an effort," Hiyori protests.

"That's not worth anything if I'm hurting you," Ikuya says, and his arms come forward to wrap around Hiyori's shoulders. Oddly enough, with every gentle touch, it feels like the knots worked into them might be just starting to loosen.

"I might need gentler massages," Hiyori admits. "But if you teach me how to do that, I can try it on you."

"I don't really know what I'm doing," Ikuya says, bent over with his mouth inches from the top of Hiyori's ear. "You just…seemed tense."

"I'm not very good at relaxing," Hiyori says.

"You can learn, though," Ikuya argues. "You’re really good at getting me to calm down. I'd like to do the same for you."

Hiyori feels his face heating up. "You were doing a good job," he says. "I promise. I'm just slow."

"You're more delicate than I'd imagined," Ikuya reflects. He steps clear of Hiyori, one hand resting on the side of his neck, the curve of his shoulder. It runs down, lightly, as though just the weight of the hand and wrist is being put to bear. It barely pulls at the collar of Hiyori's shirt before sliding down his shoulder, rounding the curve and sliding around to his back, where it presses against him gently, supportive. Ikuya's thumb runs up and down the side of Hiyori's spine, just below his neck; not applying much pressure, just making him aware of the tension there.

Warmth runs through Hiyori's body, as though from Ikuya's hand—down and out and across to both sides, and he finds himself inhaling slow and deep, shoulders and chest opening up on their own.

Hiyori feels like he should probably say something, something encouraging. While before he was desperately pretending he didn't want the massage to be over…he wants Ikuya to do that again.

"Is that better?" Ikuya sounds surprised. "That's the biggest breath you’ve taken since I started."

"Yeah," Hiyori breathes. "That was…nice."

"Can…" Ikuya coughs, and his voice sounds a little rough, awkward. "Can I try again?"

"You already…" But Hiyori bites his lip. Ikuya wants him to be honest, and once he starts something, he tends to keep going until he reaches his goal. Who is he to stand in the way of that, when it's something he also wants? "Yes, please," he says instead.

"Lean forward a little," Ikuya says, and when Hiyori does so, he starts to trace patterns over his back.

There's a bit of trial and error, but his touches are much lighter, and now that he's no longer distracted by pain it's easier for Hiyori to deduce Ikuya's thought process. He shivers at the touches that are a bit ticklish, and sighs, relaxing, under the ones that linger.

Ikuya on the right track is a quick learner. The touches that are slow and gentle and warm increase, till Ikuya’s running his hands up and down, all gentle pressure and reassuringly even strokes.

Slowly, he tries some of the kneading motions again, but this time they back off at the first sign of resistance, retreating to simple touch, and Hiyori gradually realizes that the tightness from before had come from him flinching away. He can't consciously control it yet, but he starts to try, reminding himself that Ikuya is the one touching him, thinking about how nice being touched feels.

By the time Ikuya pulls him back to rest against his chest, Hiyori is feeling pleasantly boneless, and can't even find it in himself to be embarrassed.

"Better?" Ikuya asked, low and amused and sounding pleased with himself, and he nods, eyes shut, smiling.

"Much."

"I'm sorry about before," Ikuya adds.

"It's okay," Hiyori says. "You fixed it. I didn't know massages weren't supposed to be like that, either."

"And you need a gentle hand," he murmurs, and there's something there, almost amusement but not quite. Reflective. "I'll remember."

There's something in that line that makes Hiyori wonder whether he should protest, but he's too busy melting under Ikuya's touch, the odd look in his eyes. "I'll take your word for it," he says, and looks away before the gaze can make him blush again.

They talk about swimming more after that, and the tea narrowly avoids being forgotten entirely. Hiyori decides he wants to get some more homework done after all, which Ikuya seems a bit annoyed by at first, but then he pulls out his training regimen plans, claiming that they’re more interesting than schoolwork, and occasionally shares his thoughts on these with Hiyori as they work and finish their tea.

He's made a program for Hiyori, too, to help him get back into competing form when he returns to full training. Hiyori is touched by the practicality of it, even though he knows that making training regimens is an activity Ikuya enjoys and often uses to procrastinate on other things. 

He starts to look a little listless again in the evening, but dinner and his next dose of antibiotics help, and that sets the pattern that makes up the next day or so—he flags before meals as his medicine wears off, but overall recovers quickly. 

By New Year’s Eve, Ikuya has recovered enough to argue with his mother, Natsuya, _and_ Hiyori about staying up till midnight, only to do so anyway, eating mikans and stubbornly refusing to nod off while watching the programs leading up to the midnight countdown. After that, Natsuya and Hiyori join forces to say _they’re_ going to bed, and Ikuya looks so dejected that Hiyori’s about to relent when Natsuya invites him to join instead. “You can sleep with Hiyori,” he says, like it’s not a big deal. “It’s a pretty big mattress.” 

And so Hiyori goes to sleep in the wee hours of New Year’s Day with Ikuya next to him, and wakes up while Natsuya’s still dead to the world across the room, daylight in his eyes, and his limbs and Ikuya’s tangled comfortably. Ikuya’s fever is gone, even without medicine, and he’s smiling in his sleep, like he’s having good dreams. 

Hiyori has never felt more ready to face whatever the next year may bring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (The only note I can think of for this chapter is that sadly, the peanut butter thing is real. Skippy is the only thing I can find, usually, and even that is only in stock less than half of the time.)
> 
> We're heading into...probably the last full arc (of this story, at least) starting next chapter. Thank you so much for reading!


	35. Iceberg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belated realizations. 
> 
> (Mind the content warnings this chapter.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Content warning:** Remember those tags about homophobia and cultural differences? Those hit hard at the end of this chapter. Nothing explicit or violent, but it's not exactly meant to be a good time, so stay safe. 
> 
> If you want to know a little more about what happens, or just skip the relevant scene(s), see the Author's Note at the end of the chapter.

The rest of the break passes peacefully, and fairly quickly. It's still common for Ikuya and Hiyori to be in the house by themselves, but Natsuya's forever in and out, and rarely tells anyone about his schedule beforehand. They spend more time outside the house themselves, meeting with various of the Iwatobi students and alumni, catching up or getting to know each other. A lot of these end up being impromptu study sessions, because finals are hovering over everyone's heads, waiting to hit as soon as finals start again. Hidaka and Shimogami both jump into finals pretty quickly after break ends, and Rei, Nagisa, and Aiichiro all have college entrance exams to study for, which Ikuya doesn't envy them at all. 

In hopes of getting over his ear infection as soon as possible, without complications, Ikuya avoids swimming for most of the rest of the break. Instead, he and Hiyori join Natsuya on about half of his other workouts, and go running and walking on their own. Hiyori’s recovered enough to keep up without any trouble, which is nice to see. 

In fact, he’s energetic enough that he keeps up just fine with the extra, pent-up energy that Ikuya would usually use on swimming. They end up getting distracted on one of their runs, electing to just keep going an extra kilometer or two before turning around. By the time they do, Hiyori is starting to act lost, which is a little silly with the coast so nearby. They change their route to keep sight of the water, and then finally slow down to a walk, appreciating the fading light of the day flickering on the water. 

Hiyori pulls his sweatshirt closed as he looks out over it. "It really is beautiful here," he says. 

Ikuya glances up at him. "Did you miss it, after you moved?" 

Hiyori shakes his head. "Not really. I didn't go outside all that much when I was a kid, and it didn't really occur to me to go anywhere interesting." 

"Really? I explored all over." Ikuya coughs. "I even got lost a couple times when I was younger, especially before I got my phone. My mom got really mad about it a few times." 

Hiyori looks more than a little concerned by that, and Ikuya casts around to avoid the subject. He doesn’t need a lecture for something he did as a kid, especially since they aren’t exactly dangerous anymore. 

"Look," he says instead, and when Hiyori looks up, he points out over the waves. "You can see Venus. The moon will be up soon, too."

"How can you tell which planet is which?" Hiyori asks, following his finger. "I can't tell Venus from Mars or Jupiter."

"Seriously? They're completely different!"

Hiyori taps at his glasses, amused. "Maybe it's my eyes? I'm not great at constellations, either."

That's all the prompting that Ikuya needs keep his eyes skyward as darkness falls. It's a clear night, and once it's dark in earnest there's plenty to pick out. They move slowly, stopping often as Ikuya starts pointing out the constellations he recognizes and Hiyori squints to make out the shapes.

"It's a little early for Pisces," Ikuya's saying at one point, "but this time of year, Aquarius is—"

He stops. Hiyori looks over at him, curious, and Ikuya coughs awkwardly.

"Nothing," he says. "Anyway, this early in the night there's a few that are easier to pick out. Hang on."

He manages to find a few other easy ones, and Hiyori seems perfectly willing to be distracted. Which is great, because the obvious just metaphorically hit Ikuya over the head.

It shouldn't have taken astronomy to remind him that Hiyori's birthday is soon, but at least he remembered in plenty of time to do something. And the more he thinks about it, as they meander slowly back to the house, the more he wants to make sure it's celebrated properly. 

A gift might technically be enough, and Hiyori likely wouldn't ever admit to being disappointed at anything Ikuya gave him, but...looking back, it's been a few years at least since Hiyori had any sort of actual birthday party.

Before bed that night, Ikuya messages Kisumi, and the plotting begins.

* * *

They end up deciding against a total surprise party, mostly at Ikuya's insistence. That might be fun another year, but he thinks Hiyori might appreciate a little warning before a full-fledged party, even if it's all people he knows.

Besides, he’s a little worried that Hiyori will somehow turn out to be busy if they don’t tell him about their plans ahead of time. There’s probably nothing to worry about—they’ve been closer than they had been, before—but Ikuya knows he shouldn’t expect Hiyori to be around and available all the time.

He still probably doesn’t actually _need_ to double-check, given that Kisumi’s inviting most of Hiyori’s other friends. But...he still feels like it was a good idea to check, so he works up the courage and ends up asking him about it while they’re packing to head back to campus.

"Hey, your birthday is right before term starts, right?” he asks one day, after spending longer than he’d like trying to find a way for it to come up more naturally. It hasn’t, so he just goes for it. “Do you have any plans?"

Hiyori pauses and gives Ikuya a slightly wary look before he answers. "Not really, no? I might call my parents at some point."

Ikuya nods to himself; hurdle cleared. "Kisumi and I were wondering if you’d be okay with a party. Only if you want, of course."

Hiyori stares at Ikuya for a long moment. "Um...sure?" he says, but all the confidence has fallen out of his voice. It's a little interesting, seeing all his usual certainty go flying out the window as soon as someone's thinking about him, instead of the other way around. It's...cute.

Ikuya manages not to laugh at Hiyori. Barely. "Or okay, I say 'only if you want,' but if you _don't_ want to you're probably going to have to talk to Kisumi. You know how he gets whenever there's an excuse for a party."

"Not really, but I can kind of imagine," Hiyori says weakly, but then shakes his head and stands up, wiping his hands on his jeans. "I mean. If you...want to? It's fine, of course. I'd be honored."

"Good," Ikuya says, "because we've kind of already planned something. Unless you have something in mind?"

Hiyori smiles, a little crooked but genuinely amused. "You know I don’t," he says, and then bites his lip.

Ikuya can't hold it back any longer; he laughs. "I kind of did, yeah."

He talks Hiyori through what's coming, because Hiyori looks uncomfortable enough without surprise being an element of the event. It wasn't like Kisumi had sworn him to secrecy, or anything. Hiyori actually looks a lot more excited about it when Ikuya tells them where they're going, though something odd happens to his expression when Ikuya tells him about Kisumi's guest list.

He feels a little weird about it, himself, but he can understand Kisumi's reasoning. It's Hiyori's birthday, so it should be centered around Hiyori's friends. It's really only fair, and Hiyori's tolerated being the odd man out dealing with Ikuya's friends for a while, even with Kisumi helping him to adjust.

So he pushes his doubts down. This is going to be fine. It'll be a good opportunity to get to know these people that Hiyori's been getting close to.

That can't be a bad thing, right?

* * *

They head downtown in the earlier afternoon on Hiyori's birthday, arriving at a small, two-story building. It’s crammed in between larger, more modern ones, though it looks to have been renovated not too long ago. The windows are brightly lit and cheery, showing off the wonders inside. 

Hiyori looks charmed by the place before they even go inside, immediately stepping up to peer through the windows. It's love at first sight—though that might not be so much the café itself, and instead the kitten that's caught his eye. 

Ikuya spends a few moments watching him baby-talk the cat through the glass, and then turns to keep an eye out for the people they're supposed to be meeting. 

There's not a lot of people—it's a small café—but the only two out of the group that Ikuya knows are Kisumi and Sam. The latter gives him a nod and a smile, but focuses mainly on wishing Hiyori a happy birthday. Kisumi follows suit, but then comes back to Ikuya as they head inside. 

Sam sticks with Kisumi for a little while, as they're assigned seats, and then starts looking around for cats and kittens to nab. There's plenty to go around, and Ikuya's in no real rush to handle one, so he lets Kisumi give him a crash course in who's who, and who speaks how much of what language. 

(He can probably get by on either his decent English or their decent Japanese, but still, it's good to know who he's more or less likely to be able to talk with.) 

Kisumi eventually gets charmed by a giant, fluffy white cat with a face that is, in Ikuya's opinion, objectively closer to ugly than cute. Still, he carries her off, purring, to his seat, where he spoils her shamelessly with treats and toys. She looks like it's nothing less than she expects, so maybe Ikuya's the odd one out, here. 

Cats are weird.

Hiyori does not seem to agree; a few of his friends have been bringing him an assortment of kittens, and he's sitting on a chair beside a cat tree, watching them play and climb on him and petting any that come into range. He looks utterly delighted. 

Ikuya, for once out from under Hiyori's watchful eye, snags a calm-looking cat with a dark tortoise-shell coat and settles in to watch _him_ for once. 

It's been a while since he's seen Hiyori interacting with a cat. It had happened a few memorable times in America, where, Hiyori assured him, the strays are much more friendly. He'd spent an apologetic but gleeful twenty minutes in a random driveway or parking lot once or twice, petting a cat that twined around his legs or curled up at his feet or even, once, climbed into his lap, purring loudly and insisting on attention. 

At the time, Ikuya had been a little annoyed. Even the friendly cats didn't usually like _him_ that much. 

There's cake, eventually, in the form of cupcakes and more cat treats to spoil the cats with. There's a small round of presents—not everyone brought a present, and Hiyori's wearing Ikuya's, a warm brown sweater that he'd been lucky enough to spot the week before. Most of the others have gotten Hiyori books, which he seems to be genuinely interested in, even if they're all making jokes about him not having time to read them all. ("Challenge accepted," Hiyori says, and Sam pretends to smack him across the head, ruffling the top of his hair and making the cat in his lap glower as he intones, " _Sleep,_ Hiyori.") 

Looking at him like this, Ikuya realizes something a little strange: Hiyori smiling for himself is a little different from when he's smiling for everyone else.

It's not that he's being dishonest when he's smiling for others' sake, though sometimes he is; it's just that a different impulse drives it then. His desire to blend in can be insincere, but his desire to be kind usually isn't. Kindness isn't quite the same thing as happiness, though; looking back, Ikuya wonders whether some of Hiyori's kindest smiles have happened when he was very sad, or very scared.

But...books and cats and coffee: Ikuya finds himself taking note on the moments that Hiyori lights up from the inside, when his eyes and smile get just a tiny bit too wide and he loses track of what he's saying. Hiyori's never hidden these moments from him, not completely, but Ikuya hadn't realized they'd been dwindling until now that they're returning. 

* * *

The second part of the party was almost entirely Kisumi's idea—Sam's too, Ikuya thinks, but he wasn't very involved with the planning. He follows the group to the pub that Kisumi picked out, and they all take over a couple of small tables near the middle of the room.

There's a shift in the mood almost immediately, and it's hard for Ikuya not to notice. This is a place where people go to be loud, and a lot of Hiyori's friends—Kisumi included—seem perfectly comfortable with that change in atmosphere. Ikuya doesn't mind, exactly, but well...he's not this kind of loud, and Hiyori isn't either.

Kisumi had seemed excited about it that Ikuya didn't argue, and Hiyori seems perfectly happy to let himself be wrapped up in the commotion, accepting the drink that Kisumi gets him and accepting his enthusiastically cheerful toast. Ikuya feels himself wanting to cling, so he makes himself move off as a few of the others close in. Sam looks like he's having a great time, for one thing, and Ikuya still doesn't completely trust himself and Sam near each other.

This is a chance to make friends, so he does his best. Emi, one of the few other Japanese people there, is quiet like Ikuya; they don't have very much in common, but she's something of a calming presence.

When she gets dragged into a conversation further down the table, though, Ikuya finds himself alone. He hasn't spent time in a group like this for a while—he's used to feeling awkward around people when he's from a different country than most of his peers, but even the Japanese kids in the group are a little more reluctant to talk to him than he would have expected. They're polite, sure, but he has the feeling they've got some walls up.

That's fine, obviously—they're all perfectly nice to Hiyori, as far as Ikuya can see. And it's not like anybody's being hostile, or giving off any hints that he's not welcome. But it does leave him feeling a little awkward.

So when one of the foreigners comes over and starts trying to get to know him, he's actually a little relieved. She reintroduces herself as Tiff, conveniently—Ikuya isn't forgetting that hair anytime soon, but hadn't quite remembered her name. She's...enthusiastic, a little bit like Asahi, and Ikuya isn't sure if that's a comforting or an annoying comparison. He certainly can't talk to her as familiarly as he does Asahi, so he's at a little bit of a loss.

She doesn't seem bothered, at least—though part of that might be the alcohol, as she seems pretty loose and boisterous in general. She jumps from topic to topic, occasionally forgetting that Ikuya needs to keep up, until she starts asking about Hiyori. 

That lasts for a little while. It's nice to have a topic to latch on to, but Ikuya feels a little uncomfortable about it, too. Hiyori isn't close enough to stop Ikuya from sharing something he doesn't want shared. Ikuya doesn't think he's going to share anything that's too private, but it's still a slightly weird position to be in.

Then, before he realizes what's happening, things get _weird_.

"And when..." She giggles, leans forward and wiggles the fingers of one hand. "When did the two of you become a _thing_?"

Ikuya blinks. "Huh?"

"You know." She wiggles her hand again. “An _item._ Close. Whatever.” 

Ikuya pauses, feeling his back stiffen. He makes himself turn towards her instead of away, lean forward closer instead of pushing his chair back. "’Thing’?" he repeats, cautious. He’s probably misunderstanding what she’s getting at. English can be hard to understand sometimes.

"I mean, are you like, officially together?" Some of what he's feeling must be showing on his face, because she backs off. "...Is it more of a trial period type thing? Keeping it casual, seeing other people?"

She's not making the subjects of their conversation obvious, and she's speaking in English in the middle of a crowded bar. Those facts keep Ikuya from flying off the handle immediately, not least because doing so would only draw more attention to what they're talking about.

"I'm really not sure what you mean," he says, voice going flat.

Tiff squints at him, then blinks, looking confused. Then her expression clears. "Shit," she says, and looks around furtively. "Right, I'm always forgetting that people are more discreet about that sort of thing here. I'm sorry, Em would've told me not to pry if she heard me having this conversation in public."

"No, wait," Ikuya says, "go back to the part where you think...what?"

Now Tiff just looks puzzled. "Are you two out or not?" she asks, in a tone that could almost be called quiet.

"There's nothing to be _out_ about," Ikuya snaps, leaning in so she can hear the venom in his voice. "What’s your problem?"

Tiff rears back, glaring; sitting down, she's just about the same height as Ikuya, and he becomes aware of exactly how close they are in size as she bristles. "Excuse me?"

Ikuya refuses to back down; that phrase had probably come out sounding a little stronger than he'd planned it, but it's also accurate to how he feels, so he doesn't want to take it back. "Hiyori's supposed to be your friend," he bites out instead. "Does he know you talk about him behind his back like this?"

Tiff stares. "I'm talking _to you,_ " she says. "If you're not his boyfriend, you can just say. You don't have to bite my head off."

"That's..." Ikuya's at a loss for words. "You can't just _say_ things like that about people! What if the wrong person overheard?"

"We're among friends!" Tiff says defensively, and then frowns, shoulders settling. "I'm sorry. I thought...if you were okay being seen with us, then talking about this stuff wouldn't bother you."

Ikuya doesn't back down. "Why would starting rumors about people being gay _not_ bother me?"

When was that something that became okay? He knows that girls do that, sometimes—he's seen the sections in manga stores of painfully young, effeminate boys and buff middle-aged guys and everything in between, all pink and hearts and sweat and blurred-out genitalia and, seemingly, not two realistic character traits to rub together in the whole section. It doesn't bother him in itself, necessarily, but the idea that there's a whole giggling contingent of people that might look at other people as fodder for that sort of thing does sort of bother him in principle.

With her dyed hair and her big frame and bigger, no-nonsense attitude, he hadn't thought Tiff would be the type to be into that sort of thing...but that's not the issue, not really. The problem is that she’d talk about real people this way period, much less people she’s close to. 

Hiyori hasn't exactly had a lot of opportunities to make friends, so...is this just bad luck? Or does he just have really poor taste?

"That's..." Tiff's mouth snaps shut, pressing into a pale line, and she stands up. "I shouldn't have had this conversation with you. I'm sorry."

And she walks away, rounding the table to its other side and going to stand behind Kisumi, who's deep in conversation with Hiyori. 

Ikuya has only a few seconds to catch his breath before Hiyori, who's facing in Tiff's direction, realizes that something's off. It doesn't help. If anything, it only makes him feel worse, the way that Hiyori immediately leans in to ask what's wrong.

Tiff's head tilts down as she speaks, hiding her face from view. Beside them, Emi comes up, and Tiff loops an arm around her, pulling her against his side. Something she says must involve Ikuya, because suddenly they all turn to look at him.

Ikuya doesn't want to argue, much less yell at anyone in public...except he _does_ want to, more than a little, and that's not the right call, not today of all days. 

So he goes. 

* * *

Hiyori doesn't take long to catch up with him. Ikuya had thought he wouldn't. 

The street lights drown out the sky overhead, wash out the asphalt under his feet as he stops under one and nudges it with the toe of his shoe. It's a dry, cold night, and his breath appears for a teasing split second before vanishing as he breathes. 

"Hey. Ikuya?" 

Ikuya doesn't want to look at him. "Sorry," he mumbles. 

"I'm not mad," Hiyori says. He probably should be, but he really doesn't sound it. "Are you okay?" 

" _I'm_ mad," Ikuya says. "Did she tell you what she was saying about you?" 

A beat of silence, two. Ikuya looks up to find that Hiyori's turned his head, is looking down the street. There's something tense in his jaw and his neck that it would be easy to mistake for anger, but...no. Ikuya trusts him, if he says he isn't mad. It's probably something else. 

"Why don't you tell me what you heard," he says softly, and Ikuya sees red for a moment, because _why wouldn't Hiyori believe him about this?_

"She called us gay, Hiyori." A breath, two. Hiyori hasn't reacted, seems to be waiting for Ikuya to continue. "She assumed we were...sleeping together. And she just _said_ it, like it was something everyone knew."

"Oh." Hiyori crosses his arms, steps out so that he's looking at the street instead of Ikuya, surveying the dark, silent street. A car trundles by, forced to a low speed by the storefronts crowding in on either side. They don’t speak again till the car passes, engine loud in the narrow space. Ikuya looks over to catch a glimpse of Hiyori’s face, washed out by headlights and streetlights, not a shadow anywhere except for the dark slash his glasses leave against his face. Wan and blank and so, so careful. 

"I'm sorry," Hiyori says, once the shadows and silence have returned. "You shouldn't have had to hear that. She shouldn't have been making assumptions like that, much less to your face." 

He still doesn't seem angry at Ikuya—but he doesn't seem mad at Tiff, either, even with what Ikuya's said, and that's baffling enough to make him angry all over again. "It's not any better if she's doing it behind my back," he says. "What, do they all think that? Did all your friends decide you were dating me and, what, forget to double-check? Did they even tell _you_ they thought that?" 

"It's not like that," Hiyori promises, quickly. "She didn't mean any harm by it, she just...misunderstood." 

"Misunderstood _what_?" Ikuya asks. "We're not...we're just..." 

A sick feeling swoops through his stomach, like the nausea from standing on ground that begins shifting under his feet. Against his own will, he begins to _calculate._ They haven't really talked before now, so Hiyori's friends have had only today's interactions to base their assumptions on. What has he been doing, to make them think...?

"I mean, it's not...it's not like that." Ikuya stares over at Hiyori, hardly even seeing him, but he's worried if he doesn't look his way Hiyori won't hear him, he'll be trapped in his own head with the chaos his thoughts are spinning. "Right?"

"It's...no," Hiyori says. "No, it isn't. They're making their own interpretation of things. It's understandable to be mad. You didn’t deserve to have that put on you."

Consternation is bubbling in Ikuya's stomach. This is what _happens_ , with him. He gets so caught up in his own head that he forgets that other people in the world do things like have impressions, and form opinions, and heaven forbid, _start rumors_.

His voice comes out smaller, now. "Do the others really think...?"

" _No,_ " Hiyori says, and it's more forceful this time. "No, they don't. They don't, I promise." His voice drops a bit, maintains its frantic pace. "Tiff was just thinking that way because that's how things are for her."

"Wait, what?" Ikuya says.

"Like, relationships like ours," and the way Hiyori says _relationships_ makes Ikuya want to cringe a little bit but Hiyori doesn't even waver, "they're a lot. It's important, what we have. And Tiff has a relationship like that, with...with her girlfriend. They've been together for a few months now, at least. They mean a lot to each other. Only her girlfriend's shy, especially in public, so a lot of the time when they're together they're a bit like you and I are."

Ikuya lets Hiyori's words in, absorbs them. It's...something, at least, seeing how much Hiyori understands about these people that just sort of baffled him. "But she and..." He can't be completely sure who Hiyori's talking about, but there are only so many girls in the group tonight, and Emi's the only one that Tiff's seemed particularly close to. It’s an easy guess.

"They're together, yeah. Only most people just think they're really close friends. Like us." Hiyori's smile is a little tight, a little pained. "Thinking about it that way, it's not so strange that Tiff got the wrong impression, is it?"

Ikuya considers this. "So they're...girlfriends."

"Yeah." Hiyori says.

"Like, romantically."

"Yes, they're dating." Hiyori bites his lips, manages a small, tight smile. "Tiff takes a little getting used to, but once you've adjusted to that, they're actually pretty cute together."

Ikuya looks Hiyori over, and a different angle occurs to him. "You're okay with this."

He's used to Hiyori shrinking away from his attempts to figure him out. This time is different; Hiyori stands straighter, even as his hands find their way into his pockets. "Why wouldn't I be? They're good people."

"When they're not assuming random people are gay, you mean," Ikuya grumbles.

"To be fair..." Hiyori starts, and then his mouth snaps shut. A little too quick, eyes suddenly a little too kind, distant.

"What?" Ikuya demands.

"You're not just a random person," Hiyori says, soft and layered over with old, bland gentleness. "If you were, I kind of doubt Tiff would bother looking at you twice." A crooked upturn of a smile, blank eyes. Wry, not kind. Humor at another's expense. "Her preferences are pretty well defined. It’s just that you’re my friend, and I’m hers.”

Hearing Hiyori stick up for Tiff, even casually, rubs Ikuya the wrong way. More importantly, though, Hiyori is hiding something from him—and for once, Ikuya's concentration goes the place he wants it to go—somewhere other than himself.

"Hiyori," he asks, trying not to be too slow with the question, or too heavy, "How do you even know these people?"

Hiyori blinks at him, tilts his head. "I told you. Kisumi introduced us."

Completely innocent, clearly very little thought behind it. But Hiyori's eyes are still blank.

“Are they all…” Ikuya pauses, wondering about the right word. 

Hiyori takes pity on him. “Not all of them, I don’t think. Or at least, I don’t know everybody’s labels. But...a lot of them, yeah.” 

“I see.” He doesn’t, really. He wants to ask _Isn’t it hard?_ but even he knows how that would sound. 

Still. Wary, careful Hiyori, shy deep down and hiding it with forced calm and confidence, spending time around a group like this, where every conversation seems like it could be a minefield of cultural differences and unfortunate assumptions? It doesn’t seem normal for him at all. 

Except, apparently, it is. Hiyori has made a lot of gay friends very quickly.

Even though before now, he’s been...at Ikuya's side, this whole time.

Ikuya doesn't want to think…

Yeah, no, he doesn't want to think. Hiyori isn't that kind of guy, the sort who would follow someone around for years in hopes...of...

...No. He's never done _anything_. Nothing at all to make Ikuya suspicious, in all the years they've known each other. The thought of Hiyori wanting anything from him, like _that_... even letting it cross his mind feels dirty and wrong, and Ikuya feels something nasty curl up in the base of his stomach.

 _He’s not like that._ How could Ikuya think, even for a second, that he might be? 

After all these years, all they went through in the past few months alone...after crying over Hiyori in public, screaming at his brother over him, and then, later, learning how to coax his best friend out of the shell he's been in nearly his whole life...

After working so hard to rebuild their friendship practically from the ground up, is this conversation the thing that's going to make him doubt Hiyori?

Here and now?

_Really?_

He hates himself more than a little, and suddenly it's difficult to look Hiyori in the eye. "Okay," he says, "I didn’t...didn’t know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to antagonize your friends."

Hiyori's smile widens to the point of pain. "Hey, to be fair, I definitely did that before you ever did."

In spite of everything, Ikuya snickers, biting at his lips to press them together. It's a terrible time to feel amused, but it’s too apt not to appreciate the comparison.

"True, I guess." He can look Hiyori in the eye a little better all a sudden, hiding the dread that's still crawling through him, capitalizing on the moment of levity. "Hey, give me a little time, okay? You've made an effort for my friends, the least I can do is try to get to know yours."

Hiyori's nod is a little slow in coming, and his smile's shrunk. He seems a little disbelieving, but Ikuya can't tell if it's in a bad way or not. "Okay," he says. "I mean, you don't need to force yourself."

"No," Ikuya disagrees. "I owe it to you to make an effort."

Hiyori nods. "If it's what you want," he says, firmly, and Ikuya decides not to correct him, even if it's a backslide into old habits. It _is_ what he wants. If Hiyori doesn't seem sure about that, then all he'll have to do is prove it to him.

"I...think I'm going to go home for now, though," he admits a moment later, sheepishly. "I'd like to say I could just go back in there and be cool with Tiff right away, but..."

"It'd be awkward. I get it," Hiyori says, smiling. He moves to clap Ikuya on the shoulder, but then seems to think better of it, turning the movement into an odd pivot away from him, back inside. "I'll go make sure her feathers aren't too ruffled. You wouldn't know it to look at her, but she can calm down pretty fast sometimes."

"I'll take your word for it," Ikuya says, and manages a smile, and leaves with no small amount of relief.

He waits till he's out the door and around the corner, pulls up his hood, jams his earbuds in. Hunches his shoulders up and sets the volume on as high as he dares, using his eyes rather than his ears to navigate his way to the bus stop.

He's going to figure all this out. He _is_ going to.

He just needs to be away from it for a little while, first.

* * *

Kisumi sends him a photo a few days later, when Hiyori's still avoiding him (subtly, but it's there, and Ikuya feels it and it _burns_ because he knows he deserves it, can't argue with it under the circumstances). The photo's in a private chat, just the two of them and it makes him stop what he’s doing and stare.

It's a picture of him and Hiyori, in the cat café. Ikuya's bending down, hand outstretched like he's trying to coax a kitten towards him, but instead of annoyed, he looks amused, a little pink in the face. Above him, Hiyori's got a smile that looks like he's just stopped laughing, a cat curled up in his lap and a kitten—the one Ikuya'd been trying to call—climbing up his knee, needle-like claws sunk into the fabric of his jeans.

He's not looking at either of the cats, though; he's looking at Ikuya, and the expression on his face...

Ikuya hates how ashamed that face makes him feel. He's tempted to set it as his lock screen for one wild moment, but then he imagines someone else seeing it when he's not expecting it and something in him cringes down to his core. Shame, not embarrassment. Because the sheer fondness on Hiyori's face is...

Ikuya likes it. He can't deny the devotion there, can't argue it away, can't try to put ulterior motives to it. It doesn't matter if Hiyori's gay or whatever else. He's Ikuya's friend, and Ikuya wouldn't give him up for anything. So the rest of it shouldn’t matter, right? 

Except...it does matter, a little, that Hiyori never thought he could talk to him about anything like this.

It matters more that they _have_ had that conversation, almost, and it’s gone badly.

Hiyori's still around, at least, and things are almost normal—but rather than the normal of the last month or so, it's closer to an earlier normal, when parts of Hiyori were so quietly shut away that Ikuya hadn't even started to wonder what might be missing.

Ikuya's hurt him, and he doesn't know how to make it better.

He almost brings it up, a couple of times. When they're on their way back from practice, when they're studying in their dorms, when they're grabbing breakfast in the café before class. But every time, Hiyori must sense something in his expression, or maybe his body language, because he closes up, makes himself small—puts distance between them and a cheery, fake smile on his face. Like he does when he's scared, or talking to a stranger.

So Ikuya swallows his guilt and his pride and resolves to wait. He promises himself that he’ll keep being sorry for as long as it takes Hiyori to feel safe talking about it.

He figures that all he can do, until Hiyori's ready, is show as best he can that he still cares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content warning summary:** Tiff (one of the foreign exchange students) assumes to Ikuya's face that he and Hiyori are in a romantic/sexual relationship. Ikuya gets very mad, and accuses her of spreading false rumors and being a bad friend. When Hiyori comes after him, he rejects the idea that their relationship was ever "like that" and considers (briefly) the possibility that Hiyori's just been sticking around to get into his pants. 
> 
> If you want to give this part a pass entirely (and I totally understand if you do), stop reading when they go to the bar. The first section of the next chapter is almost definitely going to be equally skippable.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Welp. What a chapter to hit 200k on, am I right folks? (...If it helps, you can always scroll up and reread the part about kittens?) 
> 
> This particular clash has been coming on for a while, so I hope I was able to write it okay. Nobody in this scene wants to be homophobic; it's more of a clash between people that are sensitive to different issues, grew up in different cultural contexts, and (in Ikuya's case) don't really have the background they need to navigate a conversation like the one they ended up in. There are multiple parties at fault here, including some folks who weren't involved in the conversation itself. That's going to be addressed in the next chapter too, hopefully.
> 
> (Some general disclaimers: queer stuff is hard in part because it's quite a large, diverse umbrella; horizontal oppression is a huge snarly mess, etc. Sports anime's tendency to pretend that both homosexuality and homophobia don't exist left me in a position to make some weird choices when trying to write a realistic friends-to-lovers story. I actually don't hate wrestling with this stuff, to a point, but that doesn't mean it's everyone's cup of tea. Please let me know if there are other and/or better ways I can include warnings!)
> 
> Anyway, thank you so much for your patience, and thank you for reading. Happy October, please do your best to stay safe and healthy. <3


	36. Shatter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revelations, hard conversations, and a painful decision. 
> 
> (Definitely a chapter where it's a good idea to check the warnings.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings for this chapter:** swearing (Tiff swears a lot in general, which I don't think is particularly surprising about her as a person), and a _lot_ of anxiety and (specifically internalized) homophobia. The latter is a bit more intense than it's been in previous chapters; if you want a breakdown, there's one in the ending notes.
> 
> * * *
> 
> On a happier note! My beta made some gorgeous art of my OCs, which can be found on my Tumblr [here](https://kinosternon.tumblr.com/post/631496782021525504/cscg-oc-art-after-asking-me-about-some-more) or my Twitter [here](https://twitter.com/turtlemudge/status/1314567757510275073). I recommend checking them out before reading this chapter, especially if (like me!) you find visual aids helpful when it comes to imagining characters.

Hiyori doesn't really see it, when Ikuya leaves the pub that night.

He's looking in the right direction for it, his feet rooted to the spot and his body a nebulous concept, well beyond his ability to move now that he's alone.

He tries, carefully, to take stock.

Ikuya is gone, and...and he doesn't seem to hate Hiyori, so that part could be a lot worse. Hiyori can deal with the rest, he thinks, as long as that much is true.

Tiff is mad, is almost certainly going to be mad _at him_ now that Ikuya's no longer a convenient target, and he has to go deal with that. That's a little bit less okay, because what just happened is Hiyori's responsibility, and he hates that he let her get hurt.

It hadn't been intentional, he hadn't even done anything, but...in this case that's exactly the problem.

He's spent so much time going behind Ikuya's back—worried after Kinjou, worried about bullying, worried about a thousand things—that it hadn't occurred to him that he'd have to find out things like this about Hiyori's other friends eventually. If he'd had that conversation on his own terms, instead of...just shoving Ikuya into this group of _different_ people with no warning or explanation...then maybe Ikuya's reaction would have been different.

Maybe it wouldn't have made Hiyori feel as guilty as he's ever felt about anything, and hurt innocent bystanders in the process.

But it won't do to stew on that, not yet. He can take the time later to reflect privately on his mistakes; Tiff deserves to get her lumps in first.

(Not literal ones, not that his body knows that. She's perfectly right to be upset, and Hiyori's _going_ to talk things out, because it's no less than she deserves; but there's a fine, quiet shivering reverberating through his joints, and every echo of a loud voice or laugh from the bar makes him stiffen, makes moving from where he stands just a bit harder.)

He does, eventually, force himself to go back inside. A wave of warmth and boisterous energy hits him, and he's grateful for the first and terrified of the second, even if it's not directed at him. He knows just where to look to escape it, though; there's a knot of quiet unhappiness at their table. Thankfully, it hasn't overtaken the whole party, but Tiff and Sam are talking with their heads together in the corner, obviously blocked off from everyone else, and Kisumi sits nearby, posture relaxed and turned away but face betraying that he's absolutely at least partly listening to the conversation happening behind him.

Hiyori braces himself and goes over. His heart is pounding a tattoo against his ribcage, which is odd because the rest of him feels...calm. Floaty, almost, but not entirely disconnected. He's very aware, for instance, of his hands. He's aware of what he's seeing, of the pained expression on Tiff's face, of the way Emi is still clutching at one of her forearms. 

He’s also aware of how Sam's appeared from who-knows-where, with an expression like some sort of mask is in the process of slipping off just because he's looking at Hiyori. 

"I'm sorry," Tiff blurts, as soon as Hiyori comes into earshot. "I'm sorry. I didn't...I didn't know it was like that. That _he_ was like that." 

"It's okay," Hiyori says, putting up his hands. Comes closer at a slow pace, to make it clear he isn't looming, isn't confronting her at all. He _likes_ Tiff. She was further in the right than his own friend was, and he's here to mend bridges, not burn them. 

"It's not," Tiff says, and uses her girlfriend-free hand to scrub at her hair, looking agitated. "Did...did I out you? Was that what you were talking about in there?" 

"You didn't," Hiyori says. "Not that there's much _to_ out, at the moment, but no. I think mostly Ikuya just felt insulted." He shakes his head, feeling his shoulders crumple inward. He's not proud of Ikuya, in that moment—that Ikuya would consider being compared to his new friends an insult, that he spurned their attempts to make him feel welcome out of hand. "I explained things to him, and he calmed down, a bit. That reaction was mostly surprise—he's never thought about things like this." 

"Yeah, well, warn us the next time you—" Tiff starts, but then cuts herself, shaking her head. "No. Sorry. That's not fair to you. I already knew that's how a lot of people are over here, even when they seem perfectly nice otherwise." 

"He's young," Emi says, peaceably. She looks over at Hiyori, and Hiyori feels a moment of connection. "It's easy to think, 'Oh, young people won't think like that. They're the modern generation.'" 

"You're not wrong," Tiff grumbles. "But again, cultural differences. I'm sorry I forgot." She looks over at Hiyori again. "So this doesn't happen again—which of your friends are actually okay with gay people?" 

“I am,” says a soft voice, and Hiyori jumps as he remembers that Kisumi’s here too—in fact, Kisumi’s been here the whole time and is now privy to this conversation. Hiyori’s about halfway through panicking about this when Kisumi’s words start to sink in, and he continues, “Or at least, I want to know more. I’m not...very good at talking about it, yet. But I want to listen.” 

Hiyori looks over. He’s never been completely sure how much Kisumi knows about the book club; he hadn’t felt comfortable asking, under the circumstances. But it seems that Kisumi knows enough, at least, to look Tiff in the eye and say that he accepts her. 

Tiff gives him a hard stare back for a few moments, and then nods. “All right, well, anybody else I need to know about? Seriously, I’m shit at picking up these things.” 

"People from our school are fine," Sam pipes up, voice slightly harder than usual. He makes a point of coming to stand a little closer to both Tiff and Hiyori, positioning himself so that Hiyori has a Sam-sized barrier from Tiff's scorn. Hiyori appreciates this; she is definitely not calm yet, and while he can tell she's trying to contain her ire, he isn't loving being in the splash zone. 

"Anyone who comes to this group with the knowledge of what this is will either know shit, be genuinely curious and well-meaning, or will be an asshole trying to convince us we're misguided. There shouldn't be many of those, but I know where we can get pitchforks in an emergency." 

Hiyori allows himself a small smile at the joke. Tiff snorts loudly, but it isn't a happy sound. She takes a deep breath. 

"You're right," she says, "that wasn't fair. But my point remains. Can you. If you know someone. Can you find some way to warn us? I don't want to do that to you again." 

"I'm not mad," Hiyori says. "And I _am_ sorry. I hadn't realized I'd be putting you in that sort of position." 

Tiff waves a hand. "Let's just call it even." 

That probably means that, in her mind, it isn't. And that's fair. 

Hiyori knows that—knows it too well. And that's why he comes over and puts his elbows on the table and leans his head down a little so he can peek up at Tiff for what he says next. 

"Homophobia in America and homophobia in Japan are...really different sometimes," he says, softly. "I know that firsthand, and I know you do, too. I've seen a little of what it's like in America; it's terrifying. Here, it's...also scary, but a lot of the time...the stakes are different. And it's...sometimes I feel like it's easier to get surprised." He leans back a little, and thinks that Tiff's expression has softened, maybe. "I didn't think Ikuya would react like that, either. He was abroad at the same time I was. But I guess he never got exposed to it." 

The distance from the world has deepened a little bit. He can't quite focus on Tiff's face anymore, not the whole thing, just glances at her eyes to make sure she isn't mad at him, that he's not pushing her to take a swing. His hands feel awkward no matter where he tries to put them. He is a doll whose joints are rusted into unnatural positions; he is no longer sure what expression is on his face. But he can keep his voice soft. He can show that he isn't a threat. He can say how sorry he is. 

Tiff is looking at him. Emi has taken one hand off Tiff's arm to press it to her mouth, pinching her cheek a little bit with her thumb. 

Sam faces Hiyori almost like a soldier at attention, until suddenly he turns to Tiff and clasps his hands together. 

"I feel a little responsible, too," he admits. "These get-togethers were my idea, after all. Tiff, I'd like to talk to you, or you and Emi, privately at some point later, if that's something you're okay with. Before the next meeting." He flashes a grin. "You're not in trouble, I just. Want to hear your _unfiltered_ thoughts. For...you remember that how I’ve been talking about coming up with more resources for exchange students, like a blog or something? For that, maybe. If that's okay with you, of course" 

"You..." Tiff shakes her head, almost looking offended, but there's a smile growing at the corner of her mouth. "You're gonna make this into a case study. Incredible." 

"Again, totally anonymous if I ever do use it, and off the record entirely if you want it to be. You're my friend first." He bumps her shoulder. 

She bumps him back, harder, and he stumbles a bit. “You just want an excuse to mediate for everyone, don’t you? I got this, you don’t have to clean up my mess for me.” She turns to Hiyori, which makes him jump a bit. “Hey. Sorry I fucked up your birthday party.” 

That startles a laugh out of him. “That’s...really not how I see it,” he tells her. “And besides, it was almost over anyway.” 

She shakes his head. “You two are such damn martyrs,” she says. “You’re too good for this world. What am I supposed to do with you?” 

Sam laughs, and she reaches over and musses his hair, then looks over to Hiyori. “We good?” 

Hiyori actually feels himself smiling, this time. “Yeah. We’re good.” 

“Cool.” She shakes her head. “Tell your friend sorry, too. I completely misunderstood some big things there.” 

That part might be a little bit harder. Hiyori nods anyway. “I’ll pass that along.” 

He pays his part of the bill, as well as Ikuya’s, knowing that Ikuya will likely remember and insist on paying him back at some point. When he leaves, he’s flanked by Sam on one side...and Kisumi on the other. 

He can’t quite bring himself to look at Kisumi, as they walk back towards the train that will take them all part of the way back to their respective campuses. He _can’t_ , actually, until they’re waiting at the train platform and Kisumi ducks down, catching his eye. 

“Hiyori.” There’s a far-off rumble down the tracks—not their train, one on the other side—that almost drowns out Kisumi’s voice. “Are you okay?”

The rumbling doesn’t stop, getting louder and closer. Hiyori just nods. Kisumi stares at him like he isn’t sure he believes him. 

Sam taps him on the shoulder. “We should probably talk,” he says, to Kisumi—not to Hiyori. “Did some of that in there surprise you?”

Kisumi shrugs as the train barrels past, smiling faintly. When it passes, he speaks. “A little? I should’ve asked earlier, probably. Is the book club always focused on LGBT stuff?” 

Sam nods, cautious, and then shakes his head. “Well, not always. But there’s a lot of that, yeah. It’s kind of the point of the club in the first place.”

Kisumi chuckles. “Well. I’m not much of a reader, but I’d like to learn more.” He looks between them, eyes bright and curious. “Is that okay?”

To Hiyori’s surprise, Sam’s eyes go bright and he bites at his lip, swift and sharp. “Yeah,” he says, voice gone low and rough. “Yeah, you’re welcome anytime.”

“Thank you,” Kisumi says, and another rumble comes up—their train, this time. They step in silently, sitting in three chairs in a row, Sam between the two others. 

Hiyori looks over at Sam as they ride, leaning back slightly. His shoulders are hunched forward—always a bit of a habit of his, now that Hiyori thinks about it, but perhaps more pronounced than usual. He’s bouncing his foot like something’s bothering him—or maybe what’s bothering him should be obvious, or maybe it’s a nervous habit. Hiyori’s beyond analyzing anyone well at this point. 

Hiyori’s bus transfer comes first. He stands up, getting ready to leave, and Kisumi gives him a big, sympathetic smile. 

“Don’t be a stranger, okay?” he says. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, but what I heard today doesn’t change anything about us being friends.” He looks over to Sam. “Not for either of you.” 

Hiyori nods, a lump rising in his throat. “Thanks.” 

Sam nods, looking between them, and then turns to Hiyori, purposeful. “What I said to Tiff and Emi applies to you, too,” he says. “More, even. I am totally here if you want to talk about what happened.”

Hiyori nods. He gets the feeling that Sam waited to say this for a reason, and he’s grateful; everything’s such a jumbled mess inside him that he doesn’t have it in him to say no to a conversation, even though he doesn’t have any idea yet of what he needs to say. 

“I’ll probably take you up on that,” he says. “Thanks.”

Sam nods as Hiyori feels the train starting to drag to a stop. “Anytime.” 

Hiyori makes sure to get safely off the train and starts heading for the stairs before he dares to turn back and look at the train window. As it pulls away from the platform, he sees Kisumi start to turn tentatively in Sam’s direction, lowering his head as if to ask a question. 

Then, they’re gone, and Hiyori is left full of words too young to be born and a lonely but blessedly peaceful trip back to his dorm.

* * *

Ikuya doesn't try to get in touch with him again that night, but he doesn’t avoid him in the morning. Hiyori is desperately grateful for both gestures. They’re a little quieter than usual in the days after, and some things are strained, but it's usually at the beginning of the time they spend together, or when there's an awkward lull in the conversation.

Hiyori finds himself acting on the impulse to keep Ikuya's mind off what he’s learned, introducing new topics and cracking jokes as much as he can manage. After all, Ikuya definitely thinks _something_ different of Hiyori now, and no matter what the specifics of it may be, it would make sense that adjusting to that will take time. Hiyori would really like that time to pass as comfortably as possible.

At the beginning of the next week, their school schedule resumes completely. The morning that they decide to resume their regular workout routine, Ikuya meets Hiyori outside the café for breakfast. They don’t come out at the same time, so Hiyori catches up with Ikuya on the lawn outside. Ikuya spots him from pretty far away, but it's not far enough to stop Hiyori from seeing the way Ikuya's jaw works when he comes into sight.

Hiyori doesn't know how he looks—he doesn't have an eye for it. But Ikuya looks the worse for wear, to Hiyori at least: hair in slight disarray, face pale and lips tight. He looks like he has some of the mornings when he glares (or even snaps) at any wheedling to eat. Normally Hiyori would be worrying about negotiating— _intense work-outs need a lot of energy, Ikuya, and if you're not feeling well there's no shame in toning it down for one day_ —but today, he can’t help but wonder if it’s the sight of him making Ikuya feel ill.

(His stomach's in knots, too, but that won’t stop him from eating, the way it does for Ikuya. He already knows he’ll be able to bear it.)

"Hey," Ikuya says as he comes up, trying for normal. His voice rasps a little, but Hiyori can't tell whether it's from tiredness or stress.

(Ikuya hasn't looked this bad in _ages_ , and it's all Hiyori's fault.)

"Hey," Hiyori says. Then he adds, because there's very little point in beating around the bush right now, "Are you feeling okay?"

For some reason that just makes Ikuya look even more unhappy. "...Yeah," he says. "Yeah, let's go eat. I wanna talk to you."

Hiyori's stomach clenches hard enough that it almost hurts. He smiles, not letting it show on his face. "Sure."

They order at the café, get their regular table, and settle in. It's close enough to opening time that it's only half-full, as usual. Ikuya gets a normal-sized breakfast, out of stubbornness or because he's really feeling all right physically—Hiyori can't actually tell.

"Look," Ikuya says, three bites in. He's staring down at his yogurt cup, not at Hiyori. "I'm really sorry."

Hiyori feels his expression soften. Ikuya doesn't sound sulky—or, okay, he probably would to someone else, but Hiyori hears guilt and sadness. "You apologized already," he reminds him.

"It was _your birthday party_ ," Ikuya says, sounding miserable. "And I was an _asshole_."

"You were taken off-guard," Hiyori says. "And I could tell you were doing the best you could, under the circumstances. I know you didn't do it on purpose."

"Well..." Ikuya frowns down at the table. "Thanks. But that doesn't make it okay."

Hiyori bites his lips. He doesn't want to agree _or_ disagree with that statement, so he has to be careful about what he says next. "I wish I'd told you sooner," he admits. "If I'd been a little more open about my friends, you would've known more about what you were getting into."

Ikuya looks up, curious. "Could you have? I mean, are they out?"

"Not to everyone." Hiyori takes a bite of his eggs, pleased that they're back on a slightly more neutral topic. (There's more room to mess up, talking about people who aren't here.) "But that group...yeah, the book club is basically focused on LGBT things. There's other stuff, and some of the people involved are allies, but like." He shakes his head. There's a lot, and it's complicated, and Ikuya doesn't need to understand all the ins and outs. "They're out to friends."

"Got it." Some of the condensation from his glass has dripped onto the table; Ikuya traces it with his finger. "Hiyori. I've been thinking about it and...well. There's something I want to ask, but..."

"Go ahead and ask." He's more the words than he is himself, as he says them. He leans an elbow on the table, posing himself as open, approachable. He has an idea what might be coming—in fact, he has nothing but the idea of what might be coming, consuming him, leaving him tense, ready to jump in whichever direction he needs. His heart is pounding in his chest, an odd contrast with the floating stillness that's enveloped the rest of him.

Ikuya looks nervous, too. He peeks up at Hiyori. "If you don't want me to—"

"No," Hiyori says, "I trust you, Ikuya."

"Okay." Ikuya takes another breath, and then asks, in a small voice, " _Are_ you gay? Is that why you're...in that group? Or..."

"Yeah." Voice even and light, even a little warm. Hiyori is dimly proud of himself. "I mean—I think so. I've never actually dated anyone, and I guess there's a chance I'm something else and haven't realized, but...it's my working theory."

"...Oh."

Ikuya looks down at the table again, brow furrowed in thought. Hiyori considers his options.

"...Do you wish I'd told you sooner?"

Ikuya starts to shake his head, and then stops. "That's a weird way of looking at it," he says instead. "Mostly...I just wish I knew what to say."

Hiyori shrugs. "I mean, if you have any questions...I want you to feel comfortable asking."

"No," Ikuya says, "no, that's backwards." He pushes himself up in his chair, rests his elbows on the table and leans forward. "Hiyori. Thank you for telling me. Thanks for trusting me that much. I want to earn it, okay? So if I'm a dick about it, just...don't let me be. Please."

Ikuya looks completely serious, searching Hiyori's face for his reply. Unfortunately, Hiyori's not really sure what his face is doing anymore. Ikuya's words are a massive relief and oddly painful at the same time, and also he's close and getting closer. Hiyori is a shivering mess of guilt and nerves, ghosts of old shame and fear hovering over him and leaving his skin clammy and prickling with sweat.

"I'll try," he promises.

"I've always felt like I could tell you anything," Ikuya says, softly. "I'm not as good at listening as you are, but I want to be, okay? I really want to be."

"You're fine," Hiyori says, not sure how else to answer, and Ikuya reaches forward, grabbing his forearms through his sweatshirt.

"I mean it," he says, and doesn't let go. "I'm gonna learn about this stuff. I want you to feel safe talking about it, so I'll learn more on my own. While you get used to the idea."

Hiyori blinks. "That's...you don't have to."

"I _want_ to," Ikuya says, a little exasperated. He sits back and takes a big bite of his breakfast. "That's all I wanted to say," he says, and then swallows, voice softening. "Thank you for trusting me, Hiyori. I'll do my best not to let you down."

All Hiyori can really do is smile in answer. He gets his breakfast down somehow, and thankfully his body doesn't seem to be as bothered by food as he'd worried it might be.

At least what's coming next isn't practice with everyone, but just Shin and Kotarou.

* * *

It's a weird mix of routine and not, and he feels the way Ikuya slots back in next to him like it's nothing as they head towards the pool together. It's familiar, having Ikuya next to him, chatting about practice-related things; it's normal, waving at Shin and Kotarou when they spot them outside, the four of them going inside to change together. Kotarou is grumping about the early hour and the start of term, and Shin is humoring him, but they're clearly both in good moods underneath the banter.

It occurs to Hiyori in the changing room, as he slips off his pants with his jammers already on underneath, that he might still lose this, if he’s not careful. He pushes the thought away; it hasn't really bothered him since the situation with Kinjou finally resolved itself, and at least Ikuya knows now. Even if the other two were to find out, he'd like to think they'd be accepting. As long as he didn't do anything to make them feel uncomfortable, at least.

(And as long as Ikuya stays comfortable, anyway.)

Hiyori shrugs off his thoughts and retrieves his swim cap from his bag. Unwelcome thoughts or not, he’s also excited. He hasn’t swum properly in so long, especially not with his teammates. It’s a little nerve-wracking to go into the water with them there, watching, but he’s also really, really missed this. 

He overthinks it right up until he hops into the pool for warm-up laps, and then for a while everything is normal, the familiar but newly fresh routine of endurance practice returning to him. 

Their morning practices aren’t usually too long, at least compared to the full afternoon team practices, and he feels fine going all-out. Ikuya doesn’t time them much, either, clearly also enjoying being back after his own short break. Shin and Kotarou don’t seem to mind, each bantering and making half-hearted competitions out of exercises that aren’t really made for it. 

All in all, Hiyori’s feeling buoyed in relief by the time he leaves the pool for the day’s classes. 

* * *

Unfortunately, it doesn’t last. 

He first notices the worry start to creep back in partway through the morning; the tiredness sets in that afternoon, starting in muscles that have gone too long untested and before sinking deep into his bones, leaving him feeling uncomfortably drained. 

It doesn’t take him long to realize that it’s probably because he’s out of practice, and maybe should have taken things easier this morning. There’s still practices in the afternoon to keep in mind, and as much as he wants to push himself, doing too much too close together will do the opposite of what he wants. 

(Somehow, the arguments he’s used to providing for Ikuya don’t feel as convincing when he tries them on himself. He’s not sure why that is, not sure if there’s any possible logical basis to the difference. He also doesn’t know how to ask Ikuya about it when Ikuya’s fought those exact same arguments in the past. It’s frustrating.)

He’s nervous all through their first time trial during practice. It’s exhilarating to be back in the water again, but looking at his times at the end is embarrassing, especially compared to the others. Hiyori’s lost a good deal of the progress he’d made over the past several months

The others do their best to reassure him that the setback is temporary—Ikuya especially, but Hiyori doesn’t miss how Kotarou is willing to back him up. It should help him feel better, and in a way it does; they’ve really grown to become great teammates, and he’s proud on their behalf. That just makes him want to do better for them, too, that’s all. 

He can tell that they want to be patient, but...if he can’t catch up to them, he knows he’ll eventually be replaced with another swimmer. It would be the best move for the team, and he suspects that even under the circumstances, Hoshikawa will only allow him a short window of time in which to make up the progress he’s lost. A couple of months ago, the very idea would have been humiliating. 

He’d thought a lot, over the past few months, about Haruka Nanase, the way he swims and cuts through the water like his dreams are in the pool with him, joyful and ever just out of reach. He tries to let go of the worries of falling behind...and he can, sort of. 

But he finds he’s distracted by something else—other questions that are harder to get rid of, even though part of him (one that, he admits privately, sounds a little bit like Ikuya) is angrily convinced that they shouldn’t be relevant to swimming in the first place. 

He’s out to Ikuya, now, and so far it hasn’t changed anything. Should the others know? Would they want to? Does it matter? It shouldn’t, and yet Ikuya knowing is a prickle under his skin, swelling to a crescendo of distraction at the oddest moments. 

So for now, practice leaves him tired and struggling to hide his disappointment with himself. He tells Ikuya that he’s tired (it’s the truth) and heads back to his room early, trying to study for a little while before giving it up as a lost cause and staring up at his ceiling, trying to believe that he’s making a good-faith attempt to sleep. 

His eyes keep drifting open, though, which is why he catches the flicker of light from his side table as his phone screen turns itself on. Hiyori wrestles back and forth with himself about checking his messages—he’s not sure he wants to talk with anyone right now—when his phone lights up again, steadier this time, showing a phone screen. 

Hiyori lurches over to it on reflex, and is distracted for a moment by the way the world warps briefly around him. It hasn't done that since his time recovering from the hospital, though it's not as bad as it had been then. It's probably caused this time by—

His train of thought, a mere split second, is derailed completely when he sees who's calling him. 

He can feel the way his emotions go muted, like a metal wall has crashed in and crushed them somewhere hidden; he knows they must still be there, somewhere, but right now it's keeping his head clear, keeping him from ruining what's coming. 

He reaches over, picks up the phone, and leans carefully against his wall, back straight, before he answers. 

"Natsuya-kun?" 

"Hiyori. Hey." 

"Hi," Hiyori says. "It's been a little while. You're in...America this time, right?" Natsuya had said something about that this time, before heading off. 

"For the moment, yeah." 

"Any races?" 

"One soonish. I'll have a little time to train up before it happens, though." A pause. "How are things on your side?" 

"Fine," Hiyori says. "We’re back into a full practice schedule. Ikuya’s times seem pretty good, even after a break.” 

"Glad to hear it. What about yours?" 

"Mine...?" Hiyori falters for a moment, but it grates not to answer a direct question, somewhere deep inside him. "Well, I really only just got back, so I don’t actually know yet. I’m going to have a lot of catching up to do, though, especially if I want to keep up with my team.” 

"It’s okay. You have time.” Natsuya pauses for a moment. “Still enjoying it, then?" 

Hiyori nods, even though Natsuya can't see it. "Always." 

"Good." A pause, then softer: "That's good." 

"Yeah." 

There's an awkward silence, one Hiyori doesn't know how to fill. "Uh, I know I haven't checked in for a while," he tries. "Like I said, Ikuya's been pretty okay lately, and he did talk to you recently, but I guess I still should've—” 

"Ikuya just called me, actually." 

The elaborate half-truths Hiyori was about to weave about their situation all wedge themselves into his throat at once, sealing it shut. He waits. 

"He does seem to be doing okay," Natsuya adds. "The fact that he was willing to try asking me for advice on something was a pretty good sign, I think." 

"It is," Hiyori manages, because it's true. It doesn’t stop the way his heart’s climbed up into his throat. 

“So,” Natsuya says, “I guess I need to apologize for him a bit, huh? First of all.” 

“He’s...already apologized,” Hiyori tries. 

“For bringing me into this? You sound pretty surprised to me,” Natsuya says. 

“Oh.” Hiyori considers this. “If he was asking your advice…” 

“Yeah, and like I said, I’m happy he did. But not really fair to you, either, is it?” Natsuya sounds rueful. “So, sorry. We don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to. We can pretend this conversation never happened.” 

Hiyori considers this, staring at his wall. Natsuya’s been...very cool about everything, so far. “If I’m okay with it…” he says, carefully. “What did you want to talk about?” 

“I just wanted to know if you’re okay,” Natsuya says. “And ask if you wanted to talk about what happened. With someone who’s a little less wound up about all this, maybe.” 

“...Oh.” He doesn’t quite say _why?_ but he’s thinking it. 

“I can _hear_ you overthinking things,” Natsuya says. “You don’t need to. It’s a pretty basic question.” 

“Well, no, I mean, it’s just…” He’s spinning his wheels, trying to explain what’s going on in his head. How can he explain the sense that he’s missing something? 

Natsuya sighs, a little exasperated but also fond. “I'm calling because I care about you, dummy." 

"...Huh?" 

"I told you before, right? As far as I'm concerned, you're family. The second little brother I never had—and honestly? A lot less trouble than the other one, even with everything recently." 

_...Brother...?_

Before he’d seen these two, he hadn’t had much idea of what that might mean. He’d wanted it, sometimes, enough to hurt; and when he’d met Natsuya, he’d even occasionally felt jealous. Now, knowing more about their relationship, his feelings about it are a little more complicated. There are times when brotherhood hurt Ikuya instead of helping, when pain from his relationship with Natsuya left him weaker than he might have been without it. At the same time, responsibility put a weight on Natsuya's shoulders so heavy that he folded immediately rather than fight it, running away (and hurting Ikuya in the process) till he was ready to shoulder it again. 

Hiyori isn't sure he’s ready to let himself be hurt like that, or open himself up to a relationship like that at all now that he's only just accepting that there are dangers in letting others rely on him. He’s a little afraid of what Natsuya's offering. 

But if there's one thing he's learned from watching these two over the years, it's not to make their mistakes. Natsuya is offering a gift; Hiyori was raised better than to throw it in his face. 

"So...uh, yeah," Natsuya continues, sounding awkward now. "How are you doing, Hiyori? That conversation—that was a big thing. A big step to take. You really put yourself out there." 

_Sort of like what you're doing now, isn't it?_ Hiyori's smartass brain supplies, but he shoves it down with the ease of long practice. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, I guess it was. Hey, thanks for checking in with me. I appreciate it." 

A pause, and then a chuckle, a little surprised. "Fat lot of good it does if you don't want to talk about it, dude." 

"No, I really...it made me feel better already," Hiyori admits. "Just hearing you say it." 

It did. It was slow, but it's growing like a seedling that's survived the flash freeze of his misgivings; warming and curling slowly up his chest, rising to his throat, a tickle rather than a strangling vine. It feels pretty good, now that he _can_ start to feel it, to know that he's got someone he can reach out to. If he needs to, that is.

More than ever, he doesn't want that to happen. 

And he's had people, hasn't he? 

"You know," Hiyori says, and realizes a split second later that Natsuya had taken a breath like he'd been about to speak. He swallows, stumbles, keeps going because Natsuya doesn't move again to break the silence, "I made some other friends, lately. Americans, mostly." 

Natsuya chuckles. "Wow, really?" 

"Yeah. You've lived abroad for a while, right? I bet you've got international friends." 

"I do. They can be a real kick sometimes." 

"Yeah. I think it's been even more surprising for Ikuya, though." Hiyori chuckles, rueful. "Don't get me wrong, he's still my best friend. I just like these people, too." 

"Sure," Natsuya says, easily, to keep him going. 

Hiyori angles himself out of the weird guilt spiral he almost ended up in and soldiers on. "So I like them, but Ikuya...had some trouble with them, recently." 

"Ah." Natsuya sighs. "You know, he was never all that much of a people person? He's got the people _he_ likes, and that's it. High-strung." 

"I guess," Hiyori says, instantly doubtful. "I was going to say the opposite. Ikuya's got a pretty strong personality, and my friends do, too. They're...well, Americans...and, uh, a lot of them are gay. Queer. Or whatever. So." 

"Ohhh." Natsuya's voice has suppressed laughter in it, or maybe that's nervousness. "He didn’t say _what_ happened, just that he messed up. Yeah, I bet people like that could put Ikuya on edge. Did they...uh, put things in perspective for him?" 

"...You could say that," Hiyori admits. "I didn’t warn him. I should’ve. Ikuya didn't like the things they were assuming about...me, and him. That kind of pushed things to a head. ...Natsuya, do you think gay people are disgusting?" 

He wants to clap a hand over his stupid, traitorous mouth as soon as he's said it. What on earth...? 

"No," Natsuya says immediately. "No, far from it. You know how many gay swimmers there are at the professional level? From what I've heard, it's probably more than you'd guess." 

"...Huh." 

"The important thing is that you're honest with yourself," Natsuya says. "You know, I thought about that a few years ago. I'm into a lot of different kinds of people, turns out." 

"Like..." Hiyori runs through his growing new lexicon. It's mostly English words, but that's okay; Natsuya speaks a lot of English. "Pansexual? Bisexual?" 

"I don't really need a label," Natsuya says easily. "One of those, probably." 

"Of course," Hiyori says quickly. "Sorry." 

"Not really a big priority for me at the moment," Natsuya says. "I'd bet Ikuya is the same. I feel a little bad for anybody that ends up dating him, to be honest. I find it hard to believe swimming's ever going to come second for that guy." 

He says it ruefully, but with a thread of pride as well, and Hiyori chuckles.

"That's the spirit," Natsuya says, sounding pleased with himself. "Well. Not a lot I can do from all the way over here, but if you ever want to talk, give me a ring. Time zones permitting, of course. And I hope it goes well for the two of you...however it goes." 

Even the reminder of the mass of uncertainty ahead of him doesn't crush the warmth Hiyori feels at hearing Natsuya's encouragement. "Thanks," he says.

"And no matter how it goes...I've trusted you with Ikuya for a long-ass time, Hiyori. I trust you now, too. So even if things go south, I consider you a friend, too. Don't be a stranger."

He's familiar with this weight. Instead of a frightening burden, it's starting to feel nice, this pressure to maintain relationships with people. Their expectation that he'll come to them if he needs to, that he enjoys their company when he doesn't. Hiyori smiles, content. "I won't," he says, feeling the tension and the fear and the joy and the determination in it, tangled up all at once in that promise. 

"Good," Natsuya says. "Bye, Hiyori." 

"Bye, Natsuya-kun." 

Hiyori hangs up the phone feeling much more content. He looks at the darkened sky out the window, and then glances at his phone. Sighs; it's later than it should be; he still has homework, but none of it’s due immediately in the morning. He sets a timer, gives himself ten minutes to freak out and prioritize what he has to do tomorrow. 

At the end of the ten minutes, he screws up his courage—more than it should take, really, under the circumstances—and messages Sam. 

_I think I’m ready for that talk._

* * *

Classes starting up again means that the soonest Hiyori can meet Sam is the next afternoon. Ikuya doesn’t ask where he’s going, which is good, because Hiyori wouldn’t know what to tell him. He hasn’t really even figured out what it is he wants to talk to Sam _about_ , aside from a couple of obvious things. 

He comes to Sam’s campus, as much to avoid being overheard as to make it easier for him, because Sam’s already doing him a big favor, offering his time this way. Sam meets him near the bus stop and leads him onto campus, winding around buildings with well-learned familiarity as he leads them into one of the older buildings, down a staircase and then a long hallway. Hiyori doesn't know much about the area, not yet, but he's pretty sure he’s been in one of the nearby dining halls before, on snack runs partway through meetings and events. 

The area they end up with appears to be totally deserted at this time of day, and Sam stops when they reach a secluded seating area, hidden in a corner beyond a staircase. It’s no more than a pair of low-slung couches on either side of a low table. He settles Hiyori into one before going to sit on the opposite one, resting his elbows on wide-spread knees and sighing. 

"So," Sam says. "You can start wherever you want, but like. What happened at the party...did that suck as much as it sounded like it sucked?" 

Hiyori curls up, rests his forehead on his folded arms on his awkwardly-high knees, and sighs, long and slow. If he pretends even harder that his heart isn't going a mile a minute against his ribs, that his stomach doesn't feel like it's full of roiling poison, then maybe the sensations will finally start to calm themselves. 

"I don't know," he admits. "It did suck, though." 

Sam's voice is sympathetic now. "It sounded like it did." 

"Ugh." Hiyori raises his hands and buries his head in them. "I'm the worst. I'm just...the worst sort of person." 

"Yeah?" Sam doesn't sound particularly convinced, but not very bothered, either. 

Hiyori peeks up at him before hiding his face again. "How am I not?" he says. "Ikuya asked, so I came out to him, and he was...really nice about it. Like he _trusts_ me.” He hears his voice threatening to crack. “I feel like such a liar." 

“Well.” Sam seems to ponder this. " _Did_ you lie to him?" 

"No. Yes. I've been lying to him this whole time." Hiyori shakes his head. "I'm...a creep." He knows that’s not the word he’s afraid of, not really, but he can barely even bring himself to say the other options inside his head. The thought of being forced to say them aloud makes him feel ill. 

Sam seems to get the point, though. "Have you done anything to make him feel unsafe?" 

" _No_." Hiyori says. He almost gags on the word, his stomach is flipping over. "God. I hope not. I don’t want to, ever. But still—"

"But nothing," Sam says, sharply. "I need you to listen to me, okay? Point one: you are not to blame for what happened between those two. Not for any part of it." 

"I could've warned Tiff," Hiyori says dully. "I could’ve warned _Ikuya._ If I'd been honest—" 

"There are things you might've thought to do. It's not your fault that you didn't." Sam rocks forward, trying to catch Hiyori's eye. It's difficult, but Hiyori manages to at least aim his gaze in Sam's general direction. "Point two: you are not an evil person for hiding a crush on someone. Seriously. Cannot stress that enough." 

"I feel pretty evil right now," Hiyori mumbles. 

"And I get that. I do. But you haven't hurt him, and you're not planning to force him or persuade him or change him into anything, right?" 

Hiyori cringes a bit; he can't help it. "I've wanted things to change for him for a long time," he admits. 

"Not the same thing as wanting to change him." Sam shakes his head. "You've told me a little bit about him, remember? You want what's best for him. You put him first." 

Hiyori grips his knees, bowing his head. He wants to hold onto the words like a lifeline, because it feels like his world is breaking apart beneath him. He's built his life as someone who was doing good, who was lifting someone else up when they needed it, and his own selfishness has finally risen up in his awareness to slap him in the face. 

"If Ikuya said he didn't want to speak to you again," Sam says, "What would you do?" 

"I'd go." The words hurt to say, but there was never any doubt. 

"If he said you were doing something to make him uncomfortable, what would you do?" 

"I'd stop. I'd find a way to stop." 

"If he said he didn't want you feeling the way you do about him," and Sam's voice loses the rapid-fire quality of the past few questions, goes smooth and quiet and reflective, "what would you do?" 

"I'd..." 

It's a harder question than Hiyori was expecting. He thinks about it seriously. What _would_ he do, if Ikuya said that? 

What will he do, when he does tell Ikuya—because he knows now, knows that Ikuya deserves that—and he receives something like that in answer. 

"I'd...be honest," he admits. "I'd say that I can't, at least not completely or right away. I'd tell him I'd try. I'd say that I don't want it to change our friendship, but I understand if it does. I'd...I'd give him as much space as he needed, and as much time." He swallows. "Even if it's forever." 

Sam nods, slow, and he sounds satisfied when he speaks next. "You're not hurting him, Hiyori." 

It's incongruent enough that Hiyori actually looks up at Sam. His vision swims oddly for a moment, and he blinks to clear it. There's the odd sensation of something falling from his eyes, and he rubs at them, astonished, as Sam continues. "You're not a creep. You care about him, yes. Maybe you shouldn't have hid it from him; that part's not my call. But I have no doubt you've always had his best interests at heart, and you've followed through on that whenever you could." 

Sam goes on, talking into the silence. There's an ache building in Hiyori's chest. He presses his hands against the whole of his face, trying to hold back the explosion that feels like it's coming. 

Sam's being too kind. He doesn't know how to handle it, but worse is the love Sam's explaining, word by word, spelling it out plainly into the world in a way that it's never been till this moment. 

It's been a series of actions, yes, but a shape in the dark, something Hiyori was building by feel, by estimation, by silhouette, in bits and pieces and improvised measures. And it's like Sam's words are finally filling in the surface with light, color, illuminating the shape of what it is that Hiyori's been doing all these years. 

He's in love with someone to whom he never gave a choice to reciprocate. 

He loves Ikuya as truly as anyone can, under those circumstances...and it's not enough. 

Ikuya _needs_ to know. He deserves that. 

No matter how much it hurts. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content warning explanation:** This chapter has a lot of internalized homophobia, with a particular focus on Hiyori's fear that his sexuality and/or his attraction to Ikuya will be seen as predatory. This is mostly obliquely referenced until the end of the chapter, when Sam and Hiyori discuss it openly.
> 
> * * *
> 
> I wanted to take another moment to thank everyone for their support. I have been blown away by the generosity of the comments on this story. Sending you all lots of love.


	37. Bridge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps the most important conversation yet. (Check the warnings, as usual!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, blanket warnings in this chapter for internalized homophobia, anxiety, and general not-fun mental health times. Also, more brief hints of body image issues. (Check the end of the chapter for details.) 
> 
> Many thanks to my beta, who put up with a lot of whining about this chapter. XD

That said, though, he can't just go in and tell Ikuya right away.

He thinks about it instead, thinks until he has to admit even to himself that he’s going in circles. There's no particular rush, and he'd rather do this in a way where he doesn't hurt both of them.

So he waits, and he thinks about it hard over the next few days, trying to decide.

He doesn't know who to ask, or what to do. The biggest thing, the most important thing in Ikuya's life, is swimming. Natsuya already mentioned that, and Hiyori already knew. Is he doing the right thing by telling Ikuya? Or is he just ruining everything?

There are too many variables to consider, too many ways everything can go wrong.The last thing he wants is to be selfish.

But...no, he’s decided. He knows that he needs to tell Ikuya. Not to get anything out of him, just...so the truth is out in the open. So that they can acknowledge it. So that he can move on. 

During practice, he watches Ikuya more than anyone else, the way he always has. (More than usual, probably.) They take turns practicing their starts, and Hiyori keeps an eye on Ikuya’s technique, struggles to match it when he launches himself off the starting block. None of it feels quite right, and the water doesn’t feel like much of anything around him. He knows his times aren’t great, even factoring in that he’s still trying to catch up from his time away, even though he’s trying his hardest. Or trying to try, anyway. 

It's fine. Or it _will_ be fine, hopefully. He knows Ikuya, in some ways, like he knows himself. That doesn't mean he can absolutely predict what he'll think, and it certainly doesn't mean he can control him; but sometimes he can look at Ikuya and have a pretty good idea of what he’d think, in a given situation.

Ikuya wouldn't want him to hide this, wouldn't want to adapt and then have it sprung on him that Hiyori was holding something _else_ back. Since the time that he wanted to be friends with him for real, all Ikuya's wanted is to be on the same page as Hiyori. It's taken him a long time to really believe that, but he does now.

The question is, how can he honor that desire?

He has to be okay with it, too, after all. Has to be okay with whatever Ikuya might say, however he might react. Like Sam said, Ikuya might need space. He might even be, genuinely, a little weirded out. Or a lot, depending. After all, Hiyori had touched him, while feeling like this. Ikuya had initiated contact himself, clearly not thinking about what it meant.

Hiyori's going to need to apologize for that, no matter what else happens.

He hates himself, sometimes, for being like this. He knows Sam's probably sick of hearing about it, has already addressed those fears, but it's hard to let go of them and he doesn't know how to make them better.

He wishes he could just...ask Ikuya, and find out, and not have it count to the way he explains things later. Get a trial run. But he can't.

So...he goes to the next best person.

_Hey, can I ask you a favor?_

* * *

Kisumi asks to hang out after basketball circle, and Hiyori's honestly never been more grateful for timing. There's something about the energy there, playful and just a little bit competitive, that encourages him to run himself out, to laugh and let go of expectations and just _play_.

Sam doesn't seem to have quite the same mindset. He's gotten a haircut over the break—shorter on the sides, same on top—and he's stripped off his sweatshirt, revealing arms that are a bit more trim than Hiyori remembers.

"Hey," Hiyori says to him between games. "Have you been working out or something?"

He pauses, taken aback, as Sam freezes a bit, giving him an assessing look. "Sorry.”

"No, no," Sam says, quickly, straightening. "I have. Just a little. Uh. Thanks."

"I didn't mean to surprise you," Hiyori continues. "Just, well, your muscles are...wow, that sounded less weird in my head."

"No, I'm taking it as a compliment," Sam says, grinning. "Just...new year and everything, been wanting to get into shape. You know?"

"Absolutely." Hiyori nods, glad for the out. "Want to work out together sometime? I could stand to have a little more muscle training in my routine." Not technically something he’s been planning, but not wrong either, and an excuse to hang out with Sam is always welcome.

Sam, though...looks away. "You know, wish I could take you up on that," he says, expression slightly stiff. "But, uh, maybe...not yet. I'm actually kinda shy about it. I want to, uh, get the basics down first. Not make a fool of myself."

 _Shit._

"That's _completely_ fine," Hiyori says. "You're clearly doing just fine on your own, you should stick with whatever's working for you. No pressure at all."

Sam can't meet his eye, looking sad. "Sorry," he mumbles. "I, uh...maybe we could do jogging or something? I probably couldn't keep up with you, though, I bet swimmers do a lot of cardio."

"You don't have to force yourself—"

"No," Sam says, looking over, and he looks a little bit upset but also determined. "I want to. I do. Just...uh, I'm gonna go use the bathroom, but we should set up a time to hang out, okay?"

And he jogs off, head down, leaving Hiyori with guilt curdling his stomach.

Sam's known him for ages, has known _about_ him for just about as long. Plus, he had flirted with him a long time ago, too—so it’s probably not that he’s interpreted what Hiyori said as flirting or anything. 

So, what’s going on here?

Kisumi comes up to him a second later. "He okay?" he asks.

"I hope so," Hiyori says. "I might've messed up."

"Bet you didn't," Kisumi says, giving him a look. "He's been a little bit weird recently. I was wondering if it was just me, but I guess it isn't."

"You?"

Kisumi shrugs. "He never came out to me before, so I'm wondering if he wasn't ready."

"Can...actually, can we talk about that?" Hiyori asks. "Something related, anyway. I need to ask you something."

"Yeah, we can sit out the next game," Kisumi says. "No big deal."

"You sure?" He feels bad about keeping Kisumi away from the others, especially since the plan had originally been to talk after.

"I'm sure." Kisumi's serious again. Hiyori sighs to himself, but it's a bit late now to try to avoid dragging Kisumi into his problems.

He leads Hiyori off a bit, to a further-off corner of the gym. It’s loud enough inside that Hiyori’s not too worried about being overheard. "So what's this about?" Kisumi asks, once they're clearly on their own. "You said you wanted advice on something?" 

Hiyori does, and thankfully, he's thought enough about where to start that all it takes is forcing his traitorous tongue to start actually working. "Yeah. Um. You remember how...how Ikuya knows that I'm gay now?"

Kisumi nods, apparently not put off just yet. "Yeah." 

"Well." Hiyori shoves his hands deeper into his pockets; even though they’re still indoors, and the gym is reasonably warm, they've cooled down quickly now that he's no longer exercising. "He...wants to know more about...that. And be supportive. And stuff." 

"Yeah? Good for him." Kisumi makes a complicated face for a moment, before blurting, "I want to, too. I mean, I know that's probably not what this conversation is about, but. Just so you know." 

Hiyori's chest fills with a flash of warmth. "Yeah. I know. Thanks, I appreciate it. That's...kind of why I wanted to run this by you, actually." 

"Yeah?" Kisumi looks a little pleased. 

"Yeah. The thing is...Ikuya wants me to be honest with him, and I...kind of..." Even when there's no way Ikuya can hear it, it's difficult for him to come out and say. "I've...had a crush on him for...a while. And, if I'm being honest, I should probably tell him that, right?" 

Silence. He can't look at Kisumi as he continues. "I mean, I don't want to make him uncomfortable, and I'm definitely not expecting anything to come of it or anything. And I know it might bother him and he might end up wishing I didn’t, but if I'm going to be talking about the rest of all this, it feels...not good, to hide it from him, you know? ...Or am I just being selfish?"

Kisumi doesn’t speak for a long time, thinking about it. 

Impacts from the basketball on the ground reverberate in Hiyori’s chest as he waits. Sam returned to the game, back in his sweatshirt but bouncing around the court with quite a bit of energy. He’s going after the ball like he has a personal grudge, though he still scares up a smile when he meets someone else's eye. He seems a little worked up about something, and Hiyori can only hope that it isn’t him.

"...No," Kisumi decides, finally. When Hiyori looks over, he seems thoughtful. "I don't think that's all that selfish. I think he'd probably rather know than not, especially since this is Ikuya we're talking about." 

"Yeah," Hiyori says, relieved. This just reaffirms that he's going to have to talk to Ikuya, which is still terrifying, but being told to keep hiding would almost be worse, at this point. It appears that he really has decided, perhaps more than he'd thought. "Okay. I was just wondering, is there a way I can do it that'll...make him feel at ease, I guess? I don't want to scare him, or make him feel pressured, and I don't want it to ruin our friendship. That's the most important thing." 

Kisumi nods, looking thoughtful. "Can you just tell him that?" 

"I mean, I guess?" Hiyori takes his hands out of his pockets, absently twisting his fingers together. They aren't quite numb, but they're uncomfortably cold, and even talking about this subject is raising his heart rate, thrumming and useless and putting him further on edge. "I just...what if this messes with our teamwork? Or if it gets out to the others, what would they think? I don't want to mess things up for me, sure, but if it manages to affect other people..." 

"I'm pretty sure you're overthinking this." 

Hiyori freezes. "Yeah?" 

"Definitely." There’s faint amusement in Kisumi’s voice. "I mean, he's already said he wants to know, right? So why not just let it come up when it comes up?" 

"I..." Hiyori lets his arm drop to his side, drums his fingers against the wall. "I don't think I will, is the thing. If I don't approach the topic deliberately, then I'll just find a way to avoid it altogether." 

"Hmm." Kisumi looks up at the rafters of the gym. "Then...will you set up a time to talk and then tell him, maybe? That would make it pretty hard to get out of." 

Hiyori thinks about it, can't help cringing a little. "That seems a little drastic." 

Kisumi shrugs. "Well, it's important, right? And it'd probably be best that he have a little warning. Though you could also send it to him in a message, if you think that would work out better." 

Hiyori laughs, sheepish. "I don't think Ikuya would like that very much." 

"You're the expert, but honestly? I agree." Kisumi shakes his head. "Ikuya hates it when people don't talk to him directly. We figured that out the hard way, before." 

Hiyori sighs, nodding. "You're right." 

"So..." Kisumi looks down at his hands, thinking, and then turns back to Hiyori. "Tell him you need to talk about something, and set a time and place. Probably not too far ahead of time, so neither of you has too much time to worry. And then just...I think you can just tell him what you told me. I think that'd be okay." 

Hiyori raps his knuckles against the wall, firmer than before, willing his heart to slow. There it is, laid out in clear, concrete steps: what it is he has to do. It isn't even all that different from what he's been thinking himself, though he hadn't managed to wrangle it into such a logical order. 

"What if this messes everything up?" he murmurs. "Ikuya cares about swimming more than anything. What if I throw him off again?" 

"He’ll figure it out," Kisumi says. 

"But..." That seems wrong, but he's not sure how to argue with it. "But no one else on the team is gay," he tries. "That I know of. What if...?"

"I don't really know about the swimming side of it," Kisumi admits, but he doesn't seem very bothered by that fact. "If you want, you could ask Makoto, or Haru. You know, get another swimmer’s input. I'm sure they wouldn't mind." 

Hiyori considers it. "I...could," he starts, though the thought of it leaves something squirmy and uncomfortable in his throat, and he's not totally sure why. 

"But you can't?"

"But..." The ceiling doesn’t offer him any answers, and neither does the happy shouting and thuds of sneakers and basketballs across the gym. It's frustrating, but maybe that's because he already knows the answer. 

"But I shouldn't," he says finally. "I think you're right, I'm overthinking it, and...they're Ikuya's friends, you know? If I go to them first, I'll just be going behind his back, and I've done that too much already." He catches himself, embarrassed. "I mean. You’re his friend too, obviously, so maybe I shouldn't have..."

"No," Kisumi says, but he's smiling. "No, you're asking because you’re _my_ friend. That’s different." 

"Yeah," Hiyori says gratefully. "Yeah. I needed to talk to someone, but...I don't think I should talk to everyone, maybe." 

"You can still talk to Makoto if you need it," Kisumi says, easy and reasonable and way too forgiving of Hiyori's bad habits, for all that he's known him for only a few months. "But if you're ready to do it, I think you should go for it. Ikuya's a good guy; he might be shocked, but I think he'll get used to the idea pretty quickly." 

Suddenly his expression goes a little mischievous, and he nudges Hiyori with an elbow—gentle, just enough to show he's teasing. "Besides, who knows? Maybe you two will start dating." 

Hiyori laughs nervously on reflex; he doesn't know how else to react. "I really doubt that," he says. "I'll be happy if he doesn't hate me for this." 

"Hey." Kisumi's expression grows serious. "Come on, don't be like that. You're best friends. Trust him, okay? You matter more to him than that." 

Hiyori bites his lip. "You're right. Yeah. Okay." 

He doesn't feel it, not really, but Kisumi seems satisfied by that response. "Good," he says. "I'm rooting for you, Hiyori. For real." 

That does help, in spite of everything. "Thanks." 

The game doesn’t take long to end, after that, and Sam jogs over to them, looking curious. “Everything okay?” he asks, directed mostly at Hiyori. 

“Yeah,” he says, and Kisumi nods in agreement. 

“Cool,” Sam says, worries apparently assuaged. “So our time slot is almost up, but some of the guys think they can extend it a bit. I think I'm going to stick around, play another game. You in?” 

Hiyori's stomach turns over, guiltily. "I need to go, actually," he admits, scratching at the back of his head. 

"Sure,” Sam says. Any hint of distress from before seems to be gone, and Hiyori can’t tell how much of that is genuine. "I'll see you at club, then." 

"Right..." Hiyori feels worse. "I might...actually have to miss this next one. I'm sorry, I've really been looking forward to it, but..." It’s one of the few times he knows he and Ikuya have a fairly long, uninterrupted chunk of time, and he’s probably not going to be able to enjoy himself very much until he gets this done, anyway. 

"Oh." Sam sounds disappointed at first, but then he pauses, eyebrows going up in a mixture of concern and curiosity. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Hiyori says, "I kind of have to...deal with something, first." 

"What we talked about before?" Sam asks, voice low. Hiyori nods, and he grins, suddenly all excited support. "Go for it, then!" he says. "And message me if you need me, okay? The club won't fall apart if I have to leave a little early, or anything. I mean it." 

"Okay," he says. "I'll remember." 

"Good. And I want _details_ either way eventually, yeah?" Sam shoves his hands into his pockets, hunched forward cutely as he stares up into Hiyori's face. "Promise?" 

Hiyori chuckles in spite of himself. "Okay, okay, yes, I'll let you know how it goes." 

"You better." There's the thuds of basketballs as another game starts up on the court, permission apparently granted. Sam steps back, and heads toward it, raising a hand. "See you guys!" 

Settling on a plan doesn't let him off the hook at all—quite the opposite, in fact. Still, the sense of obligation left by this conversation is exactly what Hiyori needs, if he's being honest. (Which, lately, he's been trying to be.) 

It still doesn't feel good, but...maybe it was never going to. After years of hiding and hating himself and manipulating Ikuya, even for the sake of protecting his feelings, maybe this guilt wasn't something he'd ever be able to avoid. 

He thinks about it on the way home, crafting his message. He'll invite Ikuya out after practice, he decides. Somewhere off-campus, where no one will be able to overhear anything; a neutral space, where either of them can leave on a moment's notice if need be. A place where Ikuya won't feel pressured to stay any longer than he wants, or hear any more than he's willing to hear. 

If he'd had this conversation years ago, Hiyori wonders, would it have been better? 

He doesn't know, but he's not sure that would have even been possible. He can wish he were different, but he doesn't really see how that different self could have come about. So...maybe Kisumi is right, and Sam is right, and he needs to be a little less hard on himself. Maybe this pain isn't just unavoidable, it's also not his fault, at least not entirely. 

In a world that was less unfair, after all, maybe he would have confessed earlier. If he hadn't been dealing with more fear than he knew how to handle, if the world hadn't decided to hate people like him long before he and Ikuya were born, if he'd ever been shown support before these last few months, maybe he would've had a chance at courage back when he first needed it. It's not his fault he didn't have those things. Maybe it's just not fair, and this was always going to suck, and that's all. 

Somehow, the idea that this pain and fear aren't entirely his fault makes it a little easier to imagine working through them. And the knowledge that he has people in his corner, cheering him on, makes it easier still. 

So...maybe Kisumi is right, and Makoto's been right from the beginning, and he should trust Ikuya. After everything that's happened, he should be able to do that much by now.

* * *

In the end, setting it up isn't difficult.

He messages Ikuya, because he's a little too scared to ask in person, and they set a place and a time. They barely even talk about it in person over dinner, and things are mostly normal. They seem normal enough to Hiyori, anyway, though he's focusing hard enough on trying to seem normal himself that it's a little hard to tell.

They even go to the restaurant together the next day. Ikuya's shivering a bit in the rain, which is faint but cold enough that it seems as though it could turn into sleet if it continues. They're in their matching hats and scarves, but it's plenty for Hiyori, who can't really feel the cold through his nerves.

He somehow keeps things more or less together as they arrive, look at the food display in the window, decide what to order, and get their food. He manages a bite or two, enough that it doesn't feel like he's given up completely on this being a normal conversation, but he's quickly realizing that that's as much as he'll be able to manage.

Hiyori had thought that his heart would be pounding, that his hands would be clammy and gross and he'd have trouble breathing, that his throat would be tight and he'd be so terribly, terribly nervous.

He doesn't feel nervous, though. He just feels...empty. Numb.

Any confidence he might have had before is gone. He knows, deep down, that this isn't going to work. That's why he's staring down from above at the two of them, noting how he's twisting his own hands together tightly enough that they've just started to go white-knuckled.

That's why he can watch Ikuya staring at him, his expression hinting at bafflement and a little bit of consternation and a heaping scoop of concern, and only feel a vague sort of regret that this is where he's let things get to.

"Thanks for meeting me here," he says. "First of all."

"Sure," Ikuya says, and then sets his chopsticks down beside his plate and waits, patient.

Hiyori pauses, stares down at the plate down in front of him. Inspects it. He probably shouldn't have ordered food, but he’d thought it had mattered for some reason. And he’d told Ikuya that the plan was to eat together, too. He planned far enough ahead to pick a place where they paid when they ordered, in case things went bad fast, but it’s still another obstacle to leaving when this goes sour.

Maybe he’s made a terrible mistake.

He picks up his chopsticks again, doesn’t let his hand shake. "I saw you were comparing notes with Kotarou this morning. How’s his freestyle doing?" he asks, because he is a coward; and because Ikuya is far too kind, Ikuya answers him.

The conversation goes in odd little starts and stops, sputters when Ikuya waits for Hiyori to bring up what he's thinking and Hiyori stalls out or redirects. He's not proud of it, but he's starting to lose a little bit of the floaty, disconnected feeling in his annoyance with himself. It had felt daring at first, like his only chance, but he's feeling more and more like a fussy child.

And if there's one thing Hiyori has always hated, it was being acknowledged as immature. Even—especially—because he really, really is.

Still, he waits till Ikuya’s finished eating, because the least he can do is make sure Ikuya has an easy out when the conversation takes its inevitable turn.

"So, uh," he says, eloquently. The pause is enough for Ikuya to look up and focus on him, though, which is...kind of him. Hiyori tries to appreciate it instead of wasting time feeling guilty over not deserving the consideration.

"I wanted...to talk to you," he says. "About something. Just...just talk. If that's all right."

"Sure," Ikuya says again. He's been saying that a lot lately, probably because Hiyori is so visibly nervous. Hiyori chuckles, ingrained habit.

"It's...a little bit about...before," he says. "More or less, anyway."

Ikuya nods. "I thought it might be,” he says. “You seem...really nervous about it.” 

A laugh escapes Hiyori before he can rein it in—too much, too loud, a product of nervousness. He huddles down in his seat. “I am,” he admits, still smiling. 

"I’m...you know I don’t mind, right?” Ikuya leans forward. “I wasn’t even mad, really—well, not about that part, anyway. I just...I hate it when people assume things about me, that’s all. I hate when I don't pick up on what people are thinking about me. I'm really bad at that."

Hiyori nods, heart thudding as guilt spreads like acid in his veins _Did I do that?_

No, no, that can’t be what Ikuya means. "I still think it was fair that you were surprised," he says.

"Yeah," Ikuya says, "but I also could have reacted better. That much is on me."

“It’s...fine. I forgave you for that, anyway. I just…” _I just hope you’ll forgive me._ But no, he can’t say that, not when he hasn’t explained himself. 

What _can_ he say, then? 

_I like you_ might work, maybe, for a start, but...he can't get the words out. It's wrong. It's not enough. It's confusing, given this context.

"Even if I...even if things were different," he tries, and stops. He is sick of the rocks that lodge in his throat when he tries to tell the truth. He doesn't know how to dress this one up enough so that it'll get by the wall he's built in his brain around this truth, around these words.

"I'm going to need you to explain a little more, Hiyori," Ikuya says.

'I'm _trying,_ " Hiyori promises. "Just...give me a second."

Give him all the time in the world, more like, because every time he tries to step back to get the big picture, to calm himself down, he remembers what it is that is going to happen once Ikuya actually hears him. It's kind of a gigantic demotivator.

It's that, finally, bouncing back and forth among all the terrible possibilities, that ends up deciding him. He takes a moment, takes a breath, shoves down everything that's screaming inside him. Every drop of emotion, every voice yelling about common sense—if it's anything but the whisper that's been going in the corners of his ears and his heart since it was five years old, he shoves it down and away. He doesn't have any room for it now.

"I...I don't know how to say this in a way that makes sense," he says.

"Try," Ikuya urges, but Hiyori is already trying.

"I've cared about you for a very long time, Ikuya," Hiyori says. "Ever since we first met, I've....I've really liked your smile. And over the years, I've gotten to know you really well. I'd like to think so anyway."

"You...do," Ikuya admits. He's frowning, and Hiyori wonders what it seems like he's about to say.

"So, there are a lot of reasons that...you're great, Ikuya. Why I think you're the best. You've proven it to me over the years, over and over, as you've let me stay by your side." Hiyori takes a deep breath. 

"You're the most determined person I've ever met. You're dauntless in the face of failure—you just don't accept it as an option. You're incredibly loyal, and generous, and kind."

Ikuya's face is slowly drawing into itself, draining of expression as he sits back. This is why Hiyori tries to focus on what Ikuya says rather than what he, Hiyori, thinks of him, but right now this is more or less exactly what he needs to say.

"You've grown so much since we met, too," he says. "I'm proud to call myself your friend. I've...I've loved being by your side."

"Hiyori..." Ikuya says, and that's where he leaves it, but the plea is clear. Hiyori's sure he's worried Ikuya in many ways by now, though he didn't necessarily set out to.

"Those things...they're just because of you, those feelings." Hiyori swallows against his damned dry mouth, shoves a few more screaming feelings down, muffles some of the adoration that's screaming to be let out of him,finally, at last. "But there are other feelings that are...all about me, and I've never told you about them. And I think you deserve to know."

Ikuya looks...scared. "What are they?" he asks, and his voice is level. He's bracing himself as if for a blow, or terrible news.

Hiyori doesn't give himself time to think about it.

"You have a very pretty smile," he says. "I mean, you do, but I also think it. I've...I've always thought that. And you're...fascinating, I never get tired of being with you, and when you're hurting, it hurts me, too. And you're...well, you're beautiful. And I want to be there for you, always, and..."

Hiyori shakes his head once, briefly, annoyed at how he still isn't being clear.

"You're lovable, Ikuya. That's just a fact about you. But the way I feel about you...the...romantic love I feel...that's something I've hidden from you for a long time. Probably from the start."

Ikuya is frozen.

"I hid it because it wasn't your problem," Hiyori continues. "It was mine. It still _is_ mine. I thought that as long as you didn't know, it wouldn't affect you, but...but there were a lot of things I didn't understand about friendship. A lot of things you've been teaching me."

He pushes his bangs out of his face, thinking they're why his eyes itch and why they're blurry. Something wet and suddenly cold falls out of them instead. Well then. "I’ve been unfair to you," he says, through a throat that's tightening like soon it won't let any words out of his mouth ever again. The wave is building, building, building inside of him, ready to smash him into pieces and sweep him back out to sea. "Staying so close, doing what I did, being what I was...it makes it a little bit like a lie, doesn't it? Even though I never wanted it to be." He takes a breath. He's laid the groundwork now. He can say it. "I like you, Ikuya. I've liked you for a long time. I should have a-admitted it sooner. I'm—sorry."

The last words are choked, and he brings a hand up to his mouth for a moment, pressing the back of it against his lips till he feels like he's about to cut himself on his teeth. Then he lets the hand fall, takes a deep breath through his mouth because his nose is closing up, along with his ability to voice words.

There is a long, long silence, flawed from the start with his ragged breathing. The sound grows till it's like it's thunder in Hiyori's ears.

"I...I should go," he mutters, and stands, and he already paid at the front because this is one of those places, isn't it so good that he's careful and planned ahead—

"Wait," Ikuya says from behind him. When Hiyori doesn't, when he keeps moving and fighting down the sobs he can feel building in his throat, Ikuya's hand comes up and wraps around Hiyori's upper arm.

"Hiyori." The hand lets go a second later. "I'll come too."

Hiyori blinks back at their half-finished food. "But—”

"Doesn't matter. Let's go."

They leave.

The rain has stopped, at least. They round the corner and go round to the back and they're out of foot traffic and Hiyori sinks down into a crouch and runs his hands through his hair. The sobbing has started now, and he tries to muffle it at first but has to take his arm away to breathe, harsh and ragged against his spasming throat.

 _Oh._ Oh, right, he remembers this. This happened for the first time a little before he got sick, this sort of reaction. It's familiar. Something a little like it happened when he'd tried to explain things to Ikuya.

It's only the second time it's happened in its full form in front of another person, though. He wants to die a little bit, right now. He wants to disappear. He wants to dissolve down into nothing, if only to untangle the mass of problems that he can feel building up around him.

What a damn mess.

"Hey. Hey." Ikuya is low down, next to him, and Hiyori angles his head a bit Ikuya's way. There are speckles on his glasses, tears running down his nose. If he's lucky, that's the only thing dripping off of it, but he doesn't think that's the case. Ick.

"Hiyori. Can I...give you a hug? Will that help?"

Hiyori sniffs, laughs. Hates himself more. "After what I just told you?"

"Let's just...let's set that aside," he says. "For a second. Hiyori, let me be your friend. I'll answer, I promise I'll answer, but let's deal with this panic attack first."

 _Is that what this is?_ But now that Ikuya's said it, he suspects it can hardly be anything else. Hiyori nods, in a haze of tears and a heart hammering a mile a minute.

Ikuya hugs him, and despite the circumstances, Hiyori feels nothing romantic whatsoever in the sensation. It's just comforting and warm and solid, like Ikuya is there supporting him.

"I know I'm not supposed to tell you to breathe," he says. "But can you feel me breathing? Focus on that."

Hiyori does. Ikuya being warm and dry and breathing calmly is usually a source of comfort for him all its own, in more ways than one.

Ikuya's arms around him are tight, high enough that they don't impede his breaths. His hand slowly starts to run up and down, stroking along Hiyori's back.

"I don't...I don't know why you're panicking," Ikuya says, and his other hand starts to play with the hairs at the back of Hiyori's neck, the base of his scalp. Hiyori doesn't know what to make of this; Ikuya's never been much of one for visible fidgeting. "I don't know what you're feeling right now. But I don't want to make you sad, Hiyori. I hate that you're hurting about this."

"It's my own fault," Hiyori repeats. "I didn't want to make you feel bad, either."

"You're not, you're just...argh. I'm glad that you told me, all right, Hiyori? I'm glad."

Hiyori swallows. "I don't see why," he croaks out.

"Because, like you said, we're friends. You shouldn't have had to hide this. It hurt you, didn't it?"

Hiyori shrugs, gentle, careful not to dislodge Ikuya's arms. He doesn't want the hug to stop just yet; that much he knows for certain.

"I'm sorry," Ikuya says.

There's a long pause, and Hiyori feels Ikuya freeze, followed by a long, slow breath. "I guess I owe...what was her name, Tiff? Guess I owe her an apology."

Now it's Hiyori's turn to freeze. "No, I still think—”

"God, they...she knew about you, didn't she?" And now there's the first hint of real anger in Ikuya's voice. "She knew, and so she assumed, and I..."

Now Hiyori feels sick—calmer, but guilty lead is growing in his stomach. "It's not your fault," he says again. "I should've thought before putting you into that situation. Of course they'd think what they did, and of course you'd have no idea. It was unfair to everyone."

"Including you," Ikuya says, and he holds Hiyori tighter. "I don't get it, though. Why tell them before you told me?"

"I didn't tell them," Hiyori says, and pauses for a deep, ragged breath. "Sam figured it out."

"Did..." A sudden, deep pause, and even Ikuya's breathing pauses again, turns into something shallow, slow, even. "Did _you_ know, before then?"

A bitter laugh that Hiyori almost chokes on. "You know, I did, I think? I'm pretty sure." He sighs. "I was trying really, really hard not to think about it. But I knew."

Ikuya shakes his head, looking dazed. "Since when?"

"Probably sometime in middle school."

Ikuya jerks a bit at that, turns his head so he's looking down at the top of Hiyori's head. His knees are starting to burn, so he shakes himself free, glances behind him briefly, and settles onto the ground, leaning his back and head against the wall and glancing at Ikuya out of the corner of his eye. Ikuya stays frozen, face turned away.

"I'm sorry," Hiyori offers. "For what it's worth. I should've told you much sooner."

"You apologize too much," Ikuya mutters. " _I'm_ sorry. I'm thinking."

Hiyori nods, taking the hint and falling silent.

A moment later, Ikuya speaks again. "...I'm really bad at thinking."

"You're not," Hiyori defends automatically, voice softening.

"No, no, I am. I definitely am." Ikuya glances over. He manages a faint, sardonic smile. "All these years, and you still won't admit you're the smart one."

"I'm the one who messed up, this time," Hiyori points out.

"I'm not sure that's true." Ikuya stands up suddenly. He finds his footing on the asphalt, taking his time about it, and brushes at his legs. "Well! You've told me, and you've calmed down."

"Yes," Hiyori says.

"And I'm not good at thinking." Ikuya isn't looking at him, and is instead staring intently at the shadows making up the top of Hiyori's head in the dimly lit alleyway. "So. I'm going to do the smart thing for once in my life, and take some time to think about this." He looks down at Hiyori. "Will you be okay to leave on your own? I need some time to myself."

He doesn't sound resentful, or guilty, or any of it. In fact, he's refreshingly matter-of-fact, like he's got this matter firmly in hand. Hiyori finds himself nodding before he can even really think about it, but then he does.

He's fine with this. He's actually fine.

"Take all the time you need," he says. "But, uh. If it's gonna be a long time, I'd rather we still hung out. We can pretend this conversation never happened. That's always on the table, if it's what you want, okay?"

Ikuya nods firmly. "I'll keep that in mind." He offers his hand, and Hiyori takes it, pulling himself up. It's the same hand it's always been, firm and strong, ropey muscle and surprising strength. That he's willing to offer it is reassuring, too.

"Take care of yourself, Hiyori," Ikuya says, and there's a wry look on his face. "We’ll talk soon."

"You too," Hiyori says, and Ikuya turns, hair swishing ever so slightly behind him, and is gone with a slight spring in his step.

Hiyori turns and walks to the far end of the alley, so he's not tempted to peer after him, and stands against the wall again, putting his hands in his pockets. He stares at the small stripe of sky visible overhead, and breathes out, long and slow, between pursed lips.

"Well."

That conversation went better than he'd deserved, and better than he'd expected. Given that, he should be able to wait patiently...at least for a little while.

* * *

A string of messages light up Sam's phone about twenty minutes later.

Picking it up, he reads:

 _Hey_  
_I did it and it was kind of a disaster but things seem to have turned out okay_  
_mostly_  
_Can we hang out? If you're free. Studying or movies maybe?_

Sam stares down at the screen, and then smiles to himself.

 _If I'm picking the movie_ , he writes back, _it's going to be anime._

Hiyori's reply only takes a second. _I can live with that._

Sam starts listing possible anime in his head as he pulls on his coat, whistling under his breath. There's a conbini that's a little out of the way compared to the others, but it has the _best_ ice cream. He will take the shortcuts to good hosting when they're available.

(He and Hiyori end up eating popcorn and ice cream and comparing notes on the leitmotifs in _Spirited Away_. It's almost worth it, that this relationship of Hiyori's seems to have a good chance of working out. He's pretty top-rate BFF material, and that position, as far as Sam can see, might just have a vacancy sooner rather than later.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **More detailed warnings** : lots of anxiety and internalized homophobia on Hiyori's part basically the entire chapter, similar to what's shown up so far. Ikuya has to talk Hiyori through a panic attack near the end of the chapter. Also, brief new thing: Hiyori comments on Sam's physique near the beginning of this chapter, and Sam reacts with discomfort, revealing that he's unhappy with his body and not willing to explain himself further.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Okay, announcement time: I think we're getting really close to the end of this fic! Not the story itself—there are too many loose ends for that, and too many cute scenes I've been wanting to write!—but in terms of one main plot tying everything together, this particular story is coming to a natural stopping point. After this particular issue is resolved, things have the potential to get a lot less linear. 
> 
> It's also getting closer to NaNoWriMo season, for those of you that are familiar with that. (If you're not: basically, the goal is to write 50,000 words in the month of November). So, here's what I'm thinking: I'll try to get to a stopping point by the end of the month (or maybe a little later, depending on how things go), and then pause updates for the duration of November. I'll be back in December with as many epilogues and side stories as I've managed to draft. 
> 
> I can't make any promises, but if there are any prompts or ideas about what you'd like to see (cute scenes, character questions, etc.), feel free to send them my way! Comments, DMs/mentions on Twitter, or asks on Tumblr are all welcome. 
> 
> Regardless, though, thank you all so much for reading! (And thanks especially to everyone who's reviewed; I haven't replied to all my reviews just yet, but I'm about to go back and do so! Your comments mean so much to me, and I want to reply to every single one.) I can't say how much your support has meant to me these past months. ♡ I hope I can write an ending that's worth the journey so far!


	38. Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ikuya's thought process tends to be more condensed than Hiyori's can be, but he has a lot to think through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I had a somewhat rough week, and this chapter gave me a fair bit of trouble. Huge thanks to my beta, because this thing wasn't even remotely coherent before the beta reading stage... 
> 
> Warnings-wise, I don't think there's too much this chapter. There are a lot of sexuality headcanons in here, so hopefully I did them justice. There's bits and pieces of internalized homophobia (and I guess, potential internalized aphobia/acephobia?) in Ikuya's thoughts this chapter, and some discussions of sexuality in general that might be a little rough around the edges. Oh, and a _very_ brief mention of hypothetical abusive behavior. Hopefully there isn't much that needs a specific warning beyond that, though if I'm wrong about that, please let me know!

Ikuya walks away from Hiyori, from the restaurant. He turns the corner and heads for the bus.

He reaches the bus stop quickly enough, but after a moment of thought, keeps right on walking, deciding he’ll take a different bus line home.

He doesn’t want to take the same path that Hiyori might, because if they meet up again right now, it might simply be too much. He’s not sure how, exactly, but he’s gotten himself away without anything blowing up, and he doesn’t want to risk messing that up. 

_What am I doing?_

He doesn’t know.

Sometimes it seems like he just doesn’t know what he’s doing in general, of course, but ever since Hiyori’s birthday he’s felt particularly lost. In hindsight, it's nearly impossible to believe that he didn't see this conversation coming. But he didn’t, and he'd gone into it with almost no preparation. 

In truth, he’d actually thought Hiyori was _angry_ with him, had finally realized something that would finally leave him wanting an apology. He’d been trying to get ready to apologize properly—to grovel, if need be—and promise he’d do better. He’s messed up so many times over the years…

But no. That way of thinking had turned out to just as self-centered as many of the others he’s come up with, and he’d left himself to be completely blindsided. 

He can’t believe himself.

Luckily, he'd been able to believe Hiyori right from the start, because if he hadn't, everything would've truly gone to hell. Hiyori had been the one to ensure the conversation didn’t end in disaster, really. He'd handled it incredibly well, deciding to bring up romance before Ikuya could really even bring himself to wonder. He'd been honest, and he'd put Ikuya first.

He's _always_ put Ikuya first. Every time. In light of that…Ikuya’s _really_ glad he hasn’t messed anything up yet.

If a random gay man had come to Ikuya and confessed to him, Ikuya wonders, what would he have done? Probably been very confused, for one thing. He's never had much interest in romance, anyway, no matter who it involves. People are people, and women are women, and a lot of women don’t really care about sports. Some of the ones who do, like Gou Matsuoka for instance, seem to care about it for very different reasons than he does. Ikuya’s never been very good at things like small talk, so he's never interacted muchwith girls or women his own age. Asahi’s sister is all right, too, but she’s married _and_ a young mother so he's already basically put her in the same mental category as his mom. 

So, no, he’s not used to thinking about other people flirting with him, or asking him out, or even really seeing him as attractive. He’s kept himself to himself, and more or less expects to be left alone in kind.

So if a random guy came up and tried to hit on him, or ask him out, Ikuya would've been...defensive. He isn't used to that sort of attention, and he doesn’t like surprises. If someone were to be too forward about it, he'd have a major problem with that pretty much immediately. Even Tiff acting like she knew Ikuya had been enough to set him off, so no, flirting probably wouldn’t go well.

But Hiyori confessing is worlds away from that. 

On some level, Ikuya’s surprised—and impressed—that Hiyori managed to have that conversation at all. Half a year ago, he'd managed to tell Ikuya that he saw him as a hero, and even that had been barely more than a hint. Hiyori seems to hate admitting to any feelings that he thinks might be inconvenient to the people he cares about. 

That he was able to say all that to Ikuya anyway...even if he did it because he thought it was for Ikuya's own good...that says volumes about how much Hiyori has grown. 

Ironically, though, the fact that he'd been on the verge of breakdown through all of it had only been added motivation to be calm. Ikuya would've felt small, not to mention like the shittiest friend in existence, if he'd been anything but supportive. How often, after all, has Hiyori dealt with every one of his emotions, and stayed by his side with empathy and seemingly infinite patience?

So that had gotten him through it, but now...this particular set of emotions, Ikuya doesn’t really know how to respond to. He owes Hiyori a response, though, sooner or later; that much he's sure of. 

Romantic feelings...Ikuya shifts as he walks, an uncomfortable shiver running down his spine. They seem so unfamiliar, so unexpected, maybe even a little alien. It’s odd, to think that Hiyori has those feelings towards him, has had them for presumably the whole time they've been together.

Part of him is a little worried if he’s even capable of reciprocating right. Maybe it isn’t even a question of whether he wants to; maybe it’s just impossible. 

Hiyori would care more about what he _wants_ than what he can do, but knowing that doesn’t really help in this case. 

Ikuya doesn’t _know_ what he wants, and he’s not sure how to go about figuring it out, either. 

Ikuya goes home in a daze. He figures out a different bus route home, eventually, but he takes his time, guided more by instinct than by conscious effort. His thoughts are loud enough that the world doesn’t need drowning out with music or anything else; it passes around him like it’s behind glass until he gets back to his room, where he flops down on his bed and stares at the ceiling. 

_What am I going to do?_

He doesn't know. He's never let himself consider this before.

In the end, he supposes, it's pretty simple: he can either accept Hiyori's confession, or reject it.

Or no: if he rejects it, then maybe there will be another choice: whether or not to remain friends.

Losing Hiyori over this entirely...the thought makes his stomach clench, hot and painful. He doesn't want that. So, one option down.

But what if turning Hiyori down means losing him?

No; no, that shouldn't matter. Even if it did, it’s not something he could prevent; Ikuya's no expert on romance, but if he lies to Hiyori to keep him around, Hiyori _will_ figure it out. Even rejecting him outright would be better than trying that.

So. Accept him and _mean_ it, or reject him and stay friends with him. As long as he can manage one of those two options, Ikuya is pretty sure he'll be okay.

He takes a deep breath, feeling his stomach rise and fall, back pressed into the edge of his bed asymmetrically where he's spread-eagled on it at an angle. He feels guiltier than ever that when he’d first considered the possibility that Hiyori was gay, his mind had immediately jumped to Hiyori waiting around for...sex? That’s what guys were supposed to want, right? Ikuya’s mind hadn’t jumped to that, really, more to stalkers or the kinds of guys that got possessive over their girlfriends. All those thoughts were entirely baseless, of course. Hiyori's proven over and over that he’ll place Ikuya’s needs ahead of his own, sometimes to a ridiculous degree. 

Is that what’s caused all this? That when Hiyori loves someone, they go right to the top of his list of priorities? 

Ikuya rolls over, restless, and presses his face into his pillow. It was weird enough to realize he’d been idolized by Hiyori at first; knowing now that Hiyori _loves_ him…

He definitely doesn't feel like he deserves that, whenever he can manage to get past the flustered embarrassment of accepting the truth in the first place. He kind of doubts Hiyori's taste. No, he definitely does.

What about _Ikuya's_ tastes?

That's...even more embarrassing, because, well...he's not exactly sure how crushes work, of who would count as someone he's attracted to, but he's definitely sure of at least one name on the list. And Hiyori isn't exactly…

"...Haru."

The name slips out in his empty dorm room, and Ikuya immediately feels guilty, even though there's no one to hear.

All right. He _has_ been really, really _into_ someone before. He'd had one since he was very young. When he was younger, he’d been obsessed with following in his brother’s footsteps; as soon as that had ended, Haru had been the only one in his sights. He's even admitted as much to himself before.

Ikuya...had basically confessed to Haruka, too, hadn’t he? That night when Hiyori had been in the hospital. He’d been horrible preoccupied, and it had been possibly the worst time to come anywhere near a topic like that, but maybe his mind being elsewhere had made it go more smoothly than it might have otherwise.

Now, though, he's looking the truth in the face, and he _almost_ wishes that Hiyori hadn't ever brought it up.

But...after what had happened with Tiff, he probably hadn't thought he had a choice. And even Ikuya can't argue that it was the wrong call. Some part of him is unutterably relieved that this is out in the open, instead of hidden, where it could still take him by surprise one day. 

Still. What on earth is he going to _do_ about it?

_Accept it or reject it. It isn't that hard._

Except it is.

If he does accept it, that will mean...what will that even mean? Ikuya's not sure. And if he doesn't, then there's an unacceptably high chance that he'll lose Hiyori, even after everything.

There's no way forward that guarantees that things go well.

_Was there ever?_

No. There wasn't. Even with Hiyori hiding it, they've had their ups and downs. Heck, an illness had almost ended everything, to say nothing of Hiyori's panic when Ikuya had started treating him more like a real friend and less like some sort of bizarre comfort object. Nothing in life is certain; Ikuya's just been pretending, for far too long, that Hiyori's presence would be.

He's had it proven to him, multiple times, that nothing in this world is permanent. Sometimes things even come back, like Haru and the rest did. But even that...changed. Things change.

How does he want this to change? What risk does he want to take?

Ikuya rolls over and finds, to his surprise, that the world outside the window has gone dark. There's no stars out, but the street lights glow against the clouds.

When did that happen?

It's a disorienting feeling, losing track of the time like this, and it’s one that he hasn't experienced for a little while. Dread building slowly into panic in his stomach, Ikuya checks his phone, and then breathes a sigh of relief. He hadn't had anything else scheduled today.

If he had, Hiyori probably would have checked in to remind him. Even after...that. But Ikuya can't be certain of that, anymore. Can't be certain of anything.

He _really_ needs to figure out what to do here. If only so that he can at least be certain of himself, and what he wants. But who does he ask?

He looks over his phone again, contemplative. There are a few options, if he considers who wouldn't be busy and who'd be awake. And as for a first, safest option…

...well, if he's out of the country it’s one of the most private options possible, right? He loves his friends, he really does, but their propensity for gossip is a little more than he wants to risk at the moment.

So, no. This time, he'll keep things in the family.

* * *

"Aniki?"

"Hey, li'l bro?"

Natsuya's voice is a slow drawl, a little raspy—likely from sleep, though that's not quite his regular sleep schedule if that's the case. He sounds lazy enough, but lately when Ikuya calls, he's started picking up much quicker.

"Are you free to talk?" He's still alone in his dorm. And the walls aren't _that_ thin, but Ikuya still keeps his voice low. "It's not...urgent, but I wanted your, uh, advice on something."

"Yeah. 'Sup?"

"It's...uh." This is actually really embarrassing, he notes clinically. "So, I was talking to Hiyori today, and he, um...he..."

"What?" He's definitely tired. This was a bad idea. “Is this another thing you shouldn’t be sharing? You did think about that this time, right?” 

“I _did_ ,” Ikuya says sharply. “I get it, all right, never mind that I thought I could _trust you_ the first time. This is definitely my business, and that means I can tell who I want.” And right now, who he wants happens to be Natsuya, though he’s already having pretty strong second thoughts. 

“Okay, okay,” Natsuya says, fight leaving his voice. There’s a rustling like he’s pushing himself up out of bed; that would give Ikuya a hint as to what time zone he’s in, only he knows Natsuya can keep pretty random hours, especially when he’s been traveling on his own. “What’s this about, then?” 

Ikuya swallows, then jumps right in. “Hiyori confessed to me."

"...You mean you two haven't talked about that already?"

Ikuya takes a moment to parse what Natsuya said to him. "...Huh?"

"I just...I thought that was what our last conversation was actually about.”

“What? _No_ ,” Ikuya says, starting to get incensed again. _Why_ did everyone else insist on making assumptions about people? 

“Look, kid's obviously got a crush. I honestly thought you'd’ve had this conversation a while ago. Like, before _sleeping together_ , maybe."

"That was _just_ sleeping—” Ikuya snaps, but then gets distracted. “Wait, you _knew_ he liked me?"

"I didn't know anything. It wasn’t any of my business."

"You could've said something to me!" Ikuya found himself fuming.

"Like I said: not my business. You would've hated me prying, and you know it."

Ikuya grumbles, because he can't really deny it. Even now, if he weren’t in this situation... He sighs. "Well. Apparently you guessed right, for all the good you did with your amazing intuition."

"So? What're you calling me for?"

" _You_..." Ikuya starts, annoyed, and then forces himself to take a breath. (It comes out as a sigh, but trying counts for something, right?) "Never mind. This was a dumb idea."

"No, really," Natsuya says, suddenly earnest. "What do you want? Are you looking for advice? Do you want someone to complain at? What?"

"I...I don't know what to do about it."

"Well, if you want to turn him down, then turn him down. That part's not exactly complicated."

"I know that much!" Ikuya exclaims. "That _is_ the easy part."

"Then what's hard?"

Ikuya pauses. "I don't know."

Natsuya sighs. "If you want advice, you're going to need to ask some better questions. You haven't actually asked me anything yet, you know."

"That's...true," Ikuya admits. "I...I don't know how to answer."

"I just told you—"

"I _know_ ," Ikuya says. "I'm saying, I _don't know how to answer._ "

"Oh. ... _Oh._ Well." Natsuya clears his throat. "Are you gay, little brother?"

Ikuya coughs. "I—!"

“Don’t worry," Natsuya continues, "You're the same Ikuya to me either way. You don't have to tell me, either—though this is kind of a difficult conversation to have if you don't, not gonna lie—"

"Are _you_ gay?" Ikuya asks, out of sheer defensive reflex.

"We're talking about you right now," Natsuya says lightly, "but if you really must know, I swing a lot of ways. Not very much, though. I'm less interested in that sort of thing than some people."

Ikuya blinks, trying to process this. "Wait...so by 'less,' do you mean—"

"Look up 'demiromantic' on your own time sometime," Natsuya suggests, cutting him off, then pauses. "Actually. Look up ‘demisexual,’ too. There’s a lot of terms, could be a pretty interesting thing for you to learn more about."

"What's that supposed to—"

"Have you ever liked a guy?" Natsuya cuts him off. He’s still calm enough, but he seems eager to keep the conversation moving.

"I..."

"Look, you know you best and all, but I'm pretty sure even I can answer this one."

Ikuya can feel his face burning, and is intensely glad he didn't decide to make this a video call. "Shut up."

"Nope. You wanted my advice, that means we're doing this my way." He can hear the smile in Natsuya's voice. Bastard. "I assume you're so shaken up because either you don't see Hiyori that way now, or it just never occurred to you. Which is it?"

"...I didn't think about it," Ikuya admits, and then adds, louder, "He never said anything!"

"He..." Natsuya sighs. "I wish I couldn't believe that, but, well...you know him better than I do, but I can still believe it. So you came to me to...what? Tell you what to do?"

"A clue about what to think would be nice," Ikuya grumbles.

"You've never wanted someone to tell you to think in your life," Natsuya says peaceably. "You just want someone to argue with, don't you?"

"I'm not—" Ikuya starts, and then his mouth snaps shut. Natsuya's gotten him with that one before.

He's remembering the same thing, apparently. "Ha. Stop complaining that I'm bugging you, then. You're literally asking for this. So what, did you tell him you needed time to think about it?"

"...Yeah."

"Smart move," Natsuya says seriously. "And now you're thinking about it. You're doing okay so far."

Ikuya wants to say something biting at him, but the words of praise do somehow leave him feeling better. Instead, he says, "Thanks."

"So now," Natsuya continues, and the patience has gentled down again, "I think if you weren't interested at all, you would've turned him down by now. Unless you're feeling guilty?"

"Of _course_ I feel guilty," Ikuya says.

"Why?"

He thinks. "Because...he stuck around all these years and supported me, and I never even guessed."

"Did he ever say anything?"

"Not in so many words."

"There you go. That’s not on you, then." A pause. "Do you want to turn him down?"

"No. Yes. I don't know.” Ikuya lets out another annoyed sigh, directed mostly at himself this time. “How do I know?"

Natsuya sighs. "I can't answer that for you, little brother. But I can tell you, 'yes' and 'no' aren't your only options."

"What else is there?"

"There's 'not now,' to start. And you can always agree to one date, or a trial period, and then change your mind later."

Ikuya rolls the _not now_ over in his mind. It feels tempting, but... "What do you mean, change my mind?"

"Well, you've been friends for years, but you've never dated. Maybe if you try it, you'll figure out that it's not for you. You might turn him down in the end, but it'll show you tried." Natsuya sounds reflective, a little wistful, and there are questions about Natsuya's love life at the corners of Ikuya's mind that he probably doesn’t ever actually want answers to. "I think he'd appreciate that, especially given how long you've known each other. But I'm not him. I don't know."

"I guess..." Ikuya thought about it. It's true, he's never dated Hiyori; neither of them has ever dated anyone else, either. He knows a fair bit about how Hiyori is normally, though. Would dating him actually be any different? 

"You're overthinking things, little brother," Natsuya says seriously. "Trust me on this. It's one of the few things that really runs in the family."

"When do you ever take anything seriously?" Ikuya asks, but there's no bitterness to it. Things with Natsuya have been...easier, lately. Less painful to think about, less annoying to work with. His barbs seem—to him, anyway—to have less weight. 

"I do," Natsuya says, a little too lightly; it’s just enough to make Ikuya wonder if he’d gone too far with that comment. "I just like to keep that secret, that's all." He pauses, and the moment passes. "How does Hiyori seem to be doing, anyway? This is kind of a lot to happen, after everything else you two’ve had going on lately."

"He's..." Ikuya thought about it. "He was doing okay, until...well. Until this came up."

"And now?"

"I think he’ll be okay. I needed a bit of space, but I’ll keep an eye on him while I’m deciding."

"I see," Natsuya says, neutral. "Well, don't take things too seriously over there, I mean it. And take it easy. He didn't tell you to make things difficult for you, you know."

"I know." He did it because he felt guilty about it, Ikuya is fairly sure. Which is...not the best reason in the world to confess to someone, to be honest. "I'm still kind of wishing he hadn't."

"Are you really?"

"Maybe. No. I don't know."

"Have you talked to any of your friends about this?" Natsuya asks.

"No," Ikuya sighs. "I can't. _You_ were the one going on and on about privacy last time, weren’t you?" And hadn’t _that_ been a fun conversation. He doesn’t like looking back on it much: Natsuya had been right, but he’d also been another person essentially calling him a homophobe on a day when Ikuya _really_ hadn’t wanted to hear it. “This definitely involves me this time, sure, but telling other people would still be spreading information he might not want to share.” 

“You can still talk with them, if you need to. Just be careful, that’s all. And...actually, Hiyori would also probably be happy to talk with you about stuff like this. You know he’s going to stick with you no matter what you decide, and he knows you pretty well.” 

"Hm." It seems a little awkward to try that under the circumstances, but it’s a possibility he hadn’t really considered. Maybe, once his own mind is a little more settled, it will seem like a feasible option. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Good." Another bone-cracking yawn, though Ikuya's fairly certain it's at least half-faked. "Now, it's not super late over here, but I'm not as young as I once was, and..."

"I get it, I get it," Ikuya says, and finds himself smiling. "Go to bed, aniki."

"You too. Call again if you need me, yeah?"

"I will." And Ikuya hangs up before his brother can find a way to get annoying again.

(Not that it's likely, but with the way things have been going lately...and there's also the question of admitting to himself that he _wants_ that, which is really no question at all.)

* * *

The thoughts don't really stop, after that.

It's not keeping him from getting through the day, and it doesn't make things _bad_ —or rather, it's like he's waiting for it to _get_ bad, like his preoccupations usually do, and it doesn't.

Hiyori isn’t too different, either, though there’s definitely some awkwardness between them at first. He sometimes seems surprised that Ikuya hasn’t changed his behavior, doesn’t want more space as he thinks things through, but he always looks pleased to be spending time together, too. So things are probably okay, and Hiyori really will give him as long as he needs to figure things out. 

But it's still confusing. He finds himself wanting to just...curl up next to Hiyori, bury his face in his shoulder, and have all the questions in his head quiet down for a little while. Worse, it feels like this isn't new—that he's wanted this for a long time, and just never let himself admit it before, and now that he knows, the desire is stronger than ever.

It _sucks_ , that he feels like he can't. But until he can give Hiyori a proper answer...

He doesn't even know if he can trust that feeling as a sign. What if he doesn't want to _be_ with Hiyori, he just wants hugs?

He thinks about that, and about a lot of things, but the question of hugs doesn't leave his head, for some reason, and that pisses him off.

In the end, it's maybe the easiest thing that'll help figure the rest of this out, so he swallows his pride and asks Makoto when he's free to hang out.

* * *

"This might be weird," he warns, a few minutes into their study session in Makoto's apartment.

"Yes?" Makoto asks, all innocence.

"...Can...can you hug me." It doesn't even come out properly as a question. Ikuya feels as bashful as if he's a little kid again, or worse, because he isn't just pretending to be a grown-up now—he really _should_ be one, or at least very close.

But Makoto's looking at him with a poignant expression, and immediately says, "Of course!" He rounds the table in seconds and folds Ikuya up in his arms like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"Uh—!"

Unsurprisingly, it's really nice to hug Makoto. He's big and tall and extremely gentle, still all hard angles from years of swimming but comfortable in his body—and good at offering comfort. It makes Ikuya feel better, being near him like this. It's a little embarrassing, sure, but it's reassuring enough to make up for it. 

He also doesn't seem to be hurrying to end the hug any time soon, so Ikuya lets himself bask in it and think for maybe a minute before extricating himself. "...Thanks," he says. 

"Anytime," Makoto says, and clearly means it. "I'm happy to help. Do...Is there anything you want to talk about?" 

Ikuya sighs. "Not really. It's...not something I'd like to talk about yet." He catches a glimpse of Makoto's concerned expression and clarifies, "It's not actually bad, either. I'm just...trying to figure something out, and it's difficult.” 

Makoto looks reassured, if confused. "And a hug helped?" 

"It did. I think I needed it." 

Because it felt good, having that, and it felt good remembering that Hiyori isn't the _only_ person he can go to if he needs physical contact. Asking most of the others would be awkward, but they'd probably do it if he managed to ask, and failing them, he now knew from experience that he could ask Makoto. 

...But also, knowing that doesn't scratch that itch, not completely. He still wants _Hiyori_ to do it, too. And he finds he wants Hiyori to do it _differently_ too, the way he remembers from the past, where he clung to Ikuya and Ikuya clung right back and they were—

Uh. Maybe not the best thing to think about any further, at least not right this second.

"Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?" Makoto repeats, though he sounds more curious than worried now. "Two heads are better than one, and all that." 

"I'm good for now," Ikuya says. "Thank you. Want to study for a bit? I keep getting distracted when I work on my own." 

(He's not lying, but the actual problem is a little different. Studying with Hiyori, lately, has been almost as distracting as working by himself. He doesn't want to stop the sessions, though, because he doesn't want Hiyori thinking he's rejecting him. It's not quite to a level where it actually stops him from studying, but distracting? Absolutely.) 

Spending time with Makoto is nice, and when Haru arrives halfway through, it's...still nice, actually. There's more tension in the room, for Ikuya at least, when Haru is present, but it's not quite as intense as he remembers it being. He's still glad he's there, and Haru in the room is always, Ikuya thinks, going to take up a little more of his attention than anyone else. Something about Haru is always going to be special, and maybe these butterflies in his stomach will never actually go away completely. 

But Haru doesn't banish the itch inside him, either. He wants Hiyori to be...not here, maybe, but he wishes he were nearer by. They see each other every day, but...Ikuya misses him. When he's not around, and sometimes, very lately, when he is. 

Would that go away, if Ikuya turned him down and they stayed friends? 

And what would happen if he...accepted Hiyori's confession? If they tried dating? 

Curiosity isn't enough to justify saying yes, by itself. But Ikuya accepts that he _is_ curious. He'd like to figure out what it is that he's missing. He might be more than curious, but he isn't sure yet. 

He's not sure how to go about becoming sure, at first, but from that point on, the curiosity seems to take on a life of its own.

He keeps noticing things about Hiyori, little tiny details that don't actually mean anything but that keep catching his whole attention. A flyaway bit of hair he wants to smooth down, or an odd bend in his collar; a glance that lasts a little too long or an odd little crook of his mouth. The way his glasses warp cast patterns of light and shadow over his face—and, even more so, the moments when he looks over and Hiyori's glasses are off. He's seen Hiyori without glasses probably thousands of times, but right now, it's harder to look away than it ever was previously.

And then, at the end of swim practice one night, it comes to a head.

Hiyori reaches his hand out to help Ikuya out of the pool, and like always, Ikuya takes it...and a spark, something like heat and electricity and fresh water all at once, flows down his arm and hits the core of him. 

Ikuya blinks, and his exit is a little less graceful than useful, Hiyori taking a fraction more of his weight than he normally would. As soon as the sensation arrives, it vanishes, and Hiyori's already let go of him. His hand feels colder than the rest of him, and he wants to grab Hiyori’s again, to get the feeling from before back. 

_No._

Privacy. Hiyori needs _privacy_ , Ikuya tells himself sternly. Ikuya himself would want privacy, normally, if not for this weird desire that's invaded his brain, sudden enough to leave him almost defenseless against it. 

Hiyori is standing in front of him, dripping wet, and Ikuya wants to take in the sight of him, head to toe. 

Instead, he walks over to their towels and passes Hiyori's to him before drying himself off, tousling his hair more than is strictly necessary. 

_Quit it. You're overthinking this._

And he definitely is. 

But then Hiyori emerges just far enough from his own towel to smile at Ikuya, jaw nestled against his towel and eyes squinting adorably from being without his glasses, goggle marks still pink around his eyes, and heat rises in Ikuya's face. He huddles down in his towel and looks away. 

...Only to look back a second later, when he realizes that he just _turned away_ from Hiyori and it was probably obvious. Hiyori turns back, too, probably startled by Ikuya’s sudden movement, and now they're looking each other in the eye. Ikuya's cheeks still feel suspiciously hot, and Hiyori's eyes are widening—

Ikuya shoots Hiyori a smile that he hopes is anything but painfully awkward, and turns for the showers. Those are individual, at least. He is _pretty_ sure that he’s capable of not ogling Hiyori in the shower, but that doesn't mean he'd be capable of avoiding it _subtly._

_What,_ he asks himself, _the hell._

Hiyori was never this hard to...well, not ignore, exactly, but he was never noticeable like _this_. Ikuya had been aware of his presence, not his _body._

And from the way he stays a little closer to Ikuya as they leave, he is a presence whose sense of worry has awakened. But he doesn't say anything, not when they go together go through their post-workout routine, and not as they look over their schedules and do some last-minute note-comparing in Hiyori's room for a pop quiz that they're pretty sure is happening in one of their classes tomorrow. 

He looks restless as they finish studying, though, like he's wondering if he should ask, isn't sure if he can. 

Normally, Hiyori wouldn't hold back if he were worried about something. The knowledge of his discomfort prickles in a place that has nothing to do with this newfound...awareness...and everything to do with the fear that Ikuya's found a brand new way to be a bad friend. 

"Sorry," Ikuya mumbles, before he can second-guess it, on the way to the door. "Am I being weird?" 

"Weird...?" Hiyori says, but not quite like he's confused—more careful, like he knows exactly what Ikuya's talking about, and is scared to discuss it. 

"I'm...thinking," Ikuya says. "It's not anything bad, though." 

Hiyori's gaze softens a bit at that. "Yeah?" he asks, and a faint smile drags up the corner of his mouth. 

Ikuya nods. "Yeah." 

"Okay, then." Hiyori says. "Take as much time as you need, and remember that you can come to me with whatever you’re thinking about, if you want. Even..." The smile drops. "I mean it, even if it's not nice. We'll work it out together." 

Ikuya nods, and somehow that feels better. "Yeah," he says. "Sorry it's taking me a while." 

"It is completely understandable," Hiyori says, and yeah, there’s no doubt that they both know exactly what’s being discussed by now. "I mean, there has been a _lot_ these past few months. You deserve way more time than you've had. I had _years_ for some of this stuff and I didn't handle it anywhere near as well as you have so far. I'm not going to be upset at you, no matter how much time you need. You deserve as much time as you want, honestly. I'm just...thanks for being you. And sticking with me, even though I'm like this." 

Ikuya chuckles at that. "Do you even realize who you're talking to?" 

Hiyori looks a little uncertain at first, like he's worried Ikuya is hurting himself by saying something like that about himself, but Ikuya’s casual tone must reassure him, though there's still a gentleness to his smile that makes Ikuya feel warm. "A delight," he says, all good-natured stubbornness, as Ikuya opens the door and steps out into the cold air. "Sleep well, Ikuya." 

Ikuya doesn’t bother arguing the point—he’ll never stop Hiyori complimenting him, and deep down, he wouldn't want to even if he could. He just goes, and returns to his room in a haze, and finds that his cheeks are heating up again the moment he's on his own. 

He stops in his entryway as the door falls shut behind him and presses his hands against his face, wondering if he's imagining the heat there through the tingling in his fingers. 

He has always known that he has a flare for the dramatic, but this is starting to extend even beyond what he knew he was capable of. 

So...maybe it _isn't_ that. 

"I..." Ikuya says, and feelings clog in his throat. He crouches down, hugging a knee to his chest as he wrestles off his shoes, fingers clumsy with stupid, giddy preoccupation. 

_Hiyori._ He can't say it, but he keeps thinking it, over and over and over. _Hiyori, Hiyori, Hiyori._ Every little expression from that night, every moment their eyes met and all the things he said without words, the things Ikuya's picked up on for years and the ones that he's only starting to recognize...

...and the stuff that makes his heart turn over, which is honestly all of it at once. 

This...whatever it is, maybe it's not perfect, maybe it's impulsive and over-amplified and dramatic and messy and fueled at least a little by remorse, and by the desire for attention, by every stupid petty little impulse that he wishes he didn't have. But it's also...significant. Impossible to overlook. 

_Real_.

Ikuya sits back, on the edge of his entryway, staring at his door. He's not really seeing it; he's staring at a future that's opened in front of him. He can't actually see it, yet, but he knows it's there, now, and that makes it impossible to ignore.

He has almost everything he needs—except, maybe, the scrap of confidence he needs to take the next step forward. But now that he knows he _wants_ to...how hard can it be?

* * *

"...And it's stupid how hard this is," he says finally, elbows on his table with his hands tangled in his hair.

On his couch, Kisumi laughs. Ikuya wants to be mad, or at least _annoyed_ , but maybe he's spent too many of the last few days annoyed with himself, or maybe it’s just that something about Kisumi's chuckle makes him want to smile. Besides, Kisumi’s come all the way over to Ikuya's dorm and listened to the whole story so far very kindly and patiently, so Ikuya doesn't really have much right to complain about him finding humor in this whole situation.

"What?" he demands, keeping his voice carefully level.

"You two," Kisumi says fondly, "are way more similar than either of you realize."

"What's that mean?" Ikuya demands.

"Oh, nothing much," Kisumi says. "But you overthink things that are pretty simple. You can just tell him you want to try dating him, right? It doesn't have to be a huge deal."

"But I want to say it _right_ ," Ikuya says, and he knows he's whining, but it doesn't make him want it any less.

"You really, really don't need a whole script for that," Kisumi says. "I don't think there'd be a way to do it wrong, you know? He's going to be over the moon no matter how you decide to phrase it."

"No, I kinda do," Ikuya says. He's thinking it out as he speaks, leaning forward to stare at the grain of his table. "I don't want him to think that I'm just...just _giving in_ , you know? He needs to know that I'm taking this seriously."

"That's...hm. Since this is Hiyori we're talking about, you have a point. Kinda." Kisumi frowns in the direction of Ikuya's window, lost in thought for a long moment. Ikuya's gone back to turning the problem in his head himself when Kisumi suddenly claps his hands, looking excited. "I know what you should do," he says. " _And_ what you need to do to prepare. I can help, if you want!"

 _Prepare?_ Ikuya wonders. But if Kisumi has ideas about how to do this, he's all ears. "Yeah?" Ikuya sits up, looking over. "I'm listening..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty confident that the next chapter will be the last chapter! This story might have more epilogues that get added as chapters, but I've also created a series for side stories/future stories that might stand better on their own. If you're interested in those, following the series should get you notifications for those new stories. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!


	39. Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end. (For now, anyway.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is, the last chapter! It's late (oops), but I've had a really busy week and I wanted to make sure I closed this story out right. No particular warnings for this chapter, I'm pretty sure. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

It's…weird, after that. Not bad. The weirdest part is that it's not as weird as it could be—as, Hiyori reflects, it possibly should be. 

They go through the days like normal—some odd little silences, but the text messages come the same as always. Once Hiyori catches on, he starts doing the same, carefully. Lunch together in the dining hall, and Ikuya has class so Hiyori studies in the library until practice.

Practice, especially, is the same. It's a breath of fresh air against the tension the rest of the time, the knowledge that they both take practice seriously, that this is one part of their lives that will remain unchanged, untouched. They practice in the relay and Hiyori's off, he's quiet, but Ikuya and the others make up the difference with no fuss, and they're even praised when their exchanges are smoother than ever.

It makes sense, Hiyori reasons. Right now, he feels exquisitely aware of where Ikuya is at every single second, whenever they're in the same room. How can that not help with exchanges?

After practice, though, Ikuya takes longer than usual to get ready, then falls behind for a moment as they get to the doors outside. "Hiyori." 

Hiyori turns around, and Ikuya is watching him strangely. "What is it?" he asks. "Did you forget something?" 

"Not exactly." Ikuya steps back inside, still looking at him. "I...kind of want to keep swimming for a little while. Will you come with me?" 

"Uh..." Instinctively, he does a once-over, but Ikuya doesn't have quite the same frenetic energy or the frustration boiling off him that he usually gets when he's about to start pushing himself too hard. Whether he did or not, though, it's not like Hiyori's often successful at stopping him when he wants to practice. So he agrees, following Ikuya back into the locker room, quietly getting their suits back out and changing into them. Ikuya doesn't put on his cap, so Hiyori follows suit, leaving his off. He's a little confused, but it's another hint that when Ikuya said _swim_ , he hadn't meant _practice_. 

_What's going on?_

When they return to the pool, it's empty, everyone cleared out and even the lights in the room turned off. Hiyori stops for a moment, admiring how still the water has gone in such a short period of time, barely a few shivers across the water showing how busy it was just a few minutes ago. Ikuya doesn't hesitate, though, shedding his towel and jumping into the water. Hiyori sets his things to one side as well, and then returns to the poolside, watching. 

"Are you coming?" Ikuya asks, and Hiyori jumps a little. 

"Of course!" he says, just a hint too loud in the empty, echoing space. He jumps in a second later, the splash washing away the last of the sound. The water feels cold again against his skin, before equalizing, comforting, holding him up. 

"What did you want to do?" he asks, grabbing hold of the side and looking Ikuya's way. 

Ikuya isn't wearing his goggles, pushing his bangs out of his face where jumping in washed them forward into his eyes. "Just...swim, I guess," he says. "I was thinking, I don't remember the last time we just swam for fun. You know?" 

"....Oh." Hiyori pushes away from the side and treads water, a little lost now that he knows he isn't about to prepare for a warm-up or some sort of time trial. For fun...? 

Even when he was a child, he'd liked the structure of practice—liked having a task set in front of him, so he could focus on completing it and enjoy the sensations of swimming along the way. Playing had been something the other kids did—competing to see who could hold their breath the longest or swim the furthest without breaking the surface, or making up tricks to impress each other. Hiyori would do a few of those things, but not obviously; he hadn't wanted to draw attention to himself. 

But now there's no one to see, and he's not by himself. He can play for a while, if he wants to. 

So they do. 

They race, because, well, what else are they going to do? They do silly things, like racing backstroke versus breaststroke (arguing about a fair handicap the whole time) and, indeed, competing to see how long they can swim underwater. Hiyori's on his guard, of course he is, but they're both careful, and Ikuya's good humor assures Hiyori that neither of them are willing to risk a little competition going too far. (Ikuya wins the first time, but Hiyori wins the second.) 

They play with different games of tag, trying to avoid each other's splashes, then just chasing each other back and forth across the pool. Hiyori executes a few daring twists to get out of Ikuya's way, at one point diving under him to escape across the pool, but he's no match for Ikuya's lithe movements when he's being chased. 

After a while, Hiyori misjudges a dodge and Ikuya latches onto his whole shoulder, both of them laughing as they try to keep their heads above the surface—Hiyori sheepish, Ikuya triumphant. Ikuya doesn't dart away like he did before, though, instead turning till he's facing Hiyori in the center of the pool, both of them kicking lazily to keep afloat. 

"Hiyori," he says, voice gone deep and serious, and Hiyori looks over at him. This seems important. Ikuya's looking him straight in the eye, but he doesn't seem upset, or even particularly embarrassed. "I've...been thinking. About what you said before." 

"Oh." He'd never imagined this conversation happening in a swimming pool, but maybe he should have. He takes a deep breath, feeling the familiar resistance as he pulls it into his lungs, below the waterline. He's a little greatful, in a way; it's hard to lose track of his body when his feet have to keep kicking to keep him upright, when the reassuring weight of the water wraps around him, reminding him that there are much bigger things in the world than the distracting flutter in his chest. 

"Yeah, so..." Ikuya reaches out and takes Hiyori's arms, tracing down them to his wrists and then taking his hands. Hiyori takes them, numb. Ikuya's hands feel cold at first, the temperature of the water, but the skin where they're touching quickly warms. They have to kick a little harder this way, but the connection is...reassuring... 

"You said you like me," Ikuya says. "That...hasn't changed, has it? I didn't wait too long?" 

"Of course not," Hiyori says. He's liked Ikuya for years, a few days or weeks isn't going to make a difference. 

"Okay," Ikuya says. "Okay. Because...I can't stop thinking about it. What you said, I mean. And I'd like to, well..." He pauses, pulls his lip into his mouth for a moment. "Hiyori. Will you go out with me?" 

Hiyori's chest tightens. "Ikuya..."

"I'm...I'm not saying I'm sure," Ikuya says. "But...I'm pretty sure I like you, too. I think I might like you a lot. But...if we're doing this, I want to do it right. Okay? I don't really know what I'm doing, you may need to be patient with me while I...figure things out, but..." 

"Ikuya." Hiyori squeezes their connected hands. His legs are starting to get tired—not so much that he couldn't keep going, but enough that it's distracting. Besides, Ikuya's hands are starting to feel a little unsteady, a shiver running through them like he's cold, or winding himself up. "Can we talk on the side?" 

"Sure! Sure," Ikuya says, and starts to break away. "Okay." 

Wordlessly, Hiyori stays close, keeping one hand tight around Ikuya's. They come to the side, and Hiyori heaves himself up to the edge before reaching back down. and helps Ikuya up after him. They dangle their legs in the water, and after a moment Ikuya links an ankle around Hiyori's. Hiyori shivers at that as much as at the sensation of cold air against his skin. 

Then Ikuya leans against him, and he doesn't feel cold at all anymore. 

"I feel stupid," Ikuya confesses. "I can't believe I never even thought about any of this." 

"It's not your fault," Hiyori says immediately. "I didn't want to make you uncomfortable, so I hid it. It must be a lot to adjust to." 

"No," Ikuya says, "not really. I'm just...scared I'm going to mess this up." His voice goes small. "I don't want to." 

Hiyori pulls him closer and rests his cheek against Ikuya's head, heart pounding. Ikuya's very close for someone who might be about to reject him. Combined with what he said before...

"Does this mean," he asks, carefully neutral, "that you want to try...dating?" 

"Yeah," Ikuya says. "I'm not sure I'll be a _good_ boyfriend, but..." 

"You'd be the best boyfriend in the world," Hiyori says immediately. "In my opinion, at least." 

Ikuya laughs. "You _would_ say that," he says, but his voice is fond. "You're biased. But...if you want to put it to the test, I'm...not opposed." 

Hiyori's heart jumps again, and he can't help snuggling a little closer. "Ikuya...are you sure you're okay with this?" 

"Are you?" Ikuya shoots back, but he's still a solid presence under Hiyori's arm. "I'm serious, Hiyori. I'm a disaster—you've seen that firsthand. I can get so lost in my own head that I'm not even a very good friend, much less a boyfriend. And I don't...actually know how to date. I'm probably going to mess up, like, a lot." 

Hiyori tries to breathe. He can't believe what Ikuya's saying, but at least when he casts around for reassurances, he's still able to find them. "This is pretty new to us both," he says. "An experiment. It's not like I know what I'm doing, either. We'll have to be...patient, with ourselves and each other." He squeezes Ikuya's shoulder. "But I'm really happy you want to give it a try, Ikuya." 

"Yeah," Ikuya says. "So, will you go on a date with me, then? I was thinking this weekend, after practice." 

Hiyori blinks. A date, already? "Sure," he says. "Is there something specific you want to do, or...?" 

"I have an idea already," Ikuya says, and then gives him a questioning glance. "If that's all right....?" 

"That's fine," Hiyori says, without really thinking about it, because Ikuya's face is inches from his own, and there are droplets on the tip of his nose, eyelashes clumped together and lips pink with cold and where he keeps biting them. "Whatever you want. Is...is there anything I should bring, or...?" 

"I don't think so," Ikuya says. "I'll let you know if I think of anything, though." 

"Okay," Hiyori says. 

They stay together for a little while, till Hiyori can feel the water dry from his shoulders and his jammers start to feel uncomfortably clammy against his legs. He wonders if Ikuya, like him, is caught between savoring this moment of closeness and already anticipating what the weekend will bring. 

They part ways early that night, and Hiyori appreciates that they both probably need some space. Still, he anticipates a long, preoccupied evening, and he’s right.

* * *

That Friday, they go out for dinner, then get started on their homework together, like always. Ikuya doesn't say anything about his plans for the next day. Hiyori is tempted to ask, but doesn't want to pressure him, either. They work their way through their essay assignments, Hiyori sketching out ideas in a notebook and checking against his reading while Ikuya taps away on his laptop, occasionally frowning at the screen.

Not being able to talk about the first thing that comes to mind makes it harder to come up with conversation topics. They lapse into silence pretty often, and to tune out the awkwardness Hiyori tries to focus on finishing as much as possible for a guilt-free weekend. It'd be nice to go into this without distractions, whatever "this" ends up being.

Ikuya, though, eventually stares at him for long enough that he notices. When he looks up, raising his eyebrows in a silent question, Ikuya says, "Did you want to know anything about tomorrow?"

Hiyori considers this. "Did you think of anything I should bring?" he asks.

"Not really. Oh, and, uh. Unless you'd like to eat somewhere fancy, you don't really need to dress up, either."

Hiyori blinks. He hadn't even thought to ask.

"Okay," he says. And then, "Is it really okay that you're doing all the planning for this?"

Ikuya flashes him a shy grin. "I want to. As long as you're okay with it?" His smile takes on a teasing edge. "It's actually a little fun."

"I'm okay with it," Hiyori says. "But…uh."

Ikuya straightens immediately—subtle but unmistakable. "Yes?"

"I—uh. No matter what it is, I know I'm going to like it," Hiyori says, "because you've come up with it and you're making an effort to plan it all out. But. I don't know what to expect, so I—”

"Hiyori. I'm not expecting you to pretend it’ll be perfect," Ikuya says.

Hiyori jumps a bit, blushes, guilty. "I…won't?" he says, but it comes out as a question.

"Part of it being a surprise is that there's a little risk, I think," Ikuya says. "And. It's really not that great, so if you know ahead of time, I think it won't be as impressive."

"I don't care about whether it's impressive," Hiyori says. "I just…I'm looking forward to spending the day with you."

Why, he wonders, is it suddenly so hard to get those words out? They're so similar in content to what he's said for years, but now, in this context…

And the way he says them is different, too. He knows he sounds questioning, low-voiced and shy and like he knows the words have weight. Ikuya's response has changed, in kind; his eyes are bright and there's a light flush across his cheeks.

"That's what I'm hoping," he says, and that's all they say about it that night.

After practice, they don't say much of anything either. Instead, Hiyori had worn a slightly nicer outfit than usual, maybe, to practice, but it wasn't like the teammates saw much of it under his coat.

Ikuya's giving him a bit of a look, though, as he puts it on.

"What?" Hiyori asks, when he knows no one is listening. "I wanted to look nice for today."

"You do look nice," Ikuya agrees, and Hiyori wonders whether he's misinterpreted something. "Come on, we can leave our bags here for a few hours."

Hiyori agrees, and follows Ikuya.

They take the bus, and the train, and emerge blinking after the dim subway into the bright sunlight of a winter afternoon. Hiyori looks up at the sun, already almost disappearing behind a few of the taller buildings, and smiles. "It's a beautiful day," he says.

Ikuya smiles, but it's one of his thin ones, not the new ones. "It is, isn't it?"

Hiyori almost doesn't ask, bites his lip as he falls into line behind Ikuya, who has a map up on his phone. "Is everything all right?"

"Oh." Ikuya pauses, glances at Hiyori over his shoulder, and then heads on. "Yeah, everything's fine. I guess…" His next words are murmured so softly that it's a little hard to hear Ikuya from behind. Hiyori pulls closer to even with him, stepping out of the way of other pedestrians on the sidewalk. "I'm just a little nervous."

Hiyori smiles softly. "Oh. That's okay, then. Me, too."

Ikuya glances over at him, grateful. "Just a few more minutes."

They cross a wide street and come to a large, domed building. Hiyori, who's been glancing around for hints, knows they're in some area with a number of museums, and finally he feels confident enough to make a guess.

"A planetarium?" he asks.

Ikuya pockets his phone, looks at Hiyori. "Is that okay?"

Hiyori smiles. He hadn't really held very many expectations of what today would bring, but he's still a little surprised. And curious—what had led Ikuya to choose this spot? "It's great," he says, quietly.

Ikuya looks away, digs his hands further into his pockets, but he's smiling. "Come on," he says, "tickets are this way. I'm paying."

Hiyori follows, deciding not to argue.

* * *

The thing about the planetarium is, it's not all that different from what they do normally. There are a number of exhibits; Hiyori darts around, trying to read every display as quickly as possible. He knows from past experiences on school trips that he can and will be left behind, because other people somehow don't have quite the same drive to be thorough.

Ikuya's a lot more casual, sure enough, wandering from exhibit to exhibit, staring at the art and diagrams as much as the explanations and placards. This, Hiyori knows, is the more rational way to do it, but he keeps going back to the other way anyway.

It's pretty quiet as a date goes, too—well, for the both of them. There's a low level of chatter around them, and from the number of people hanging off other people's arms, it's fairly obvious that they're not the only ones who came here on a date. But again, that's not so different from what they'd do anyway. And it's nice to have the space to lose himself in the exhibits—not to mention looking over occasionally and seeing Ikuya just as absorbed as he is.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself," he says, as they pass from one hall into one detailing constellations.

Ikuya nods, watches Hiyori carefully. "Are you?"

"Yeah," Hiyori says, nodding. Ikuya's looking at him like he doesn't believe him, but he really means it. He tries to be as sincere as possible even though it's possible that might be making everything worse. "Yeah, I am."

"Good," Ikuya says, and looks away. Hiyori feels a little like he's just passed a test, but oddly enough, he's not nervous, not even after the fact. He's a little curious about the constellation exhibit, instead. Part of the ceiling over their heads is rotating, a stately procession of a large dome, or maybe a projection, of stars, interconnected to form constellations. 

This close, and with the lines as a guide, they're much easier to identify, and Hiyori tries to find the ones Ikuya told him about before. 

On the edge of the display is a calendar rolling through dates, showing the different times these stars are in the sky. The day's date seems to have passed a little while ago, and as Hiyori watches, Ikuya's birthday rolls by. _That’s right_ , Hiyori remembers as the date moves by. _Ikuya’s birthday is soon._

They’ve celebrated Ikuya’s birthday together almost every year, in some form or other, but now they’re _dating_. The thought makes Hiyori’s heart race, and he goes from thinking about the stars over his head to daydreaming about that, at least until Ikuya comes and drags him out of his reverie and over to the next display. 

They walk through most of the rooms in the museum, some of them cursory, others more detailed. Hiyori enjoys the details, Ikuya likes to stand and soak in the big picture. They somehow manage not to lose each other.

Then Ikuya stops in front of the ticket booth for the planetarium shows and frowns, looking at the times and titles. He glances at Hiyori. "Are you okay with waiting a little while?" he asks.

Hiyori looks at the listing himself, and shrugs. "I'm fine with it if you are."

"Good," Ikuya says, and points. "I wanted to see this one."

Hiyori is suddenly more interested, reading the description of the show. He glances over at Ikuya, who appears to be engrossed in staring at the clock on the wall, and a thought occurs to him. It's a quiet thought, more the beginnings of a hunch than anything else, but it's...he's not sure what it stirs up in him, just a quiet, wordless curiosity. Maybe the beginnings of an idea about why Ikuya brought him here.

Ikuya has moved over to the map on the wall, trying to figure out where to spend the half-hour or so they have till the next showing. Hiyori goes over to him and asks, conversational, "So, did you bring me here because you wanted to...stargaze together?"

Ikuya freezes. It's not instantaneous, but instead slow, like water settling. He turns to look at Hiyori with deliberation, something slightly unnatural to the movement. Hiyori thinks he can see the color rising in his cheeks.

"Yes," Ikuya says. Then he adds, "Is that okay?"

The truth is that Hiyori doesn't know yet. But another truth is that he trusts Ikuya—trusts his judgment and his passion and his care for Hiyori, and so it doesn't matter, so much, that right now he isn't sure. He smiles and says, "Yes. I'd like to see the stars with you, Ikuya."

It's the right thing to say, apparently, because Ikuya blushes harder and looks away. These moments of bashfulness, Hiyori wonders about. Do Haru and the others see them? He gets awkward around them, too, sometimes, so Hiyori knows that they have. It's something that's always been in him, that shyness, though the gruff edge to it is something that's grown with him. Hiyori can't help but find it a little endearing.

"Do you want to get ice cream?" he asks. "There should be enough time, and the food court's just a floor down." 

"Sure," Ikuya agrees, and they go downstairs. They talk about little things, about swimming and star exhibits and ice cream flavors—Ikuya found pistachio, Hiyori goes with coffee for himself—and it's a sweet interlude, literally, before the show.

Ikuya rushes them through the last few bites so they can get back to the theater in time for good seats. It works out fairly well, and they end up somewhat near the back in their chairs, which stand up normally for now but will recline backward for the viewing. Some children nearby are already playing with the chairs, tipping them back and forth and jumping in and out of them excitedly, but Hiyori and Ikuya just sit and wait for the lights to dim.

"Have you been somewhere like this before?" Ikuya asks.

"I think we went on a school trip when I was little," Hiyori says. "And I went on a field trip to the natural history museum, when I was in America."

Ikuya makes a face. "I remember when my class did that. It was a regular history museum, though. I couldn't read any of the exhibits."

Hiyori winces, sympathetic. "Ouch. Yeah, that would make a museum a lot less interesting. I was pretty tired by the end of my trip, too."

"It's weird how much reading can take out of you," Ikuya agrees. "You were much better at it than I ever was, though."

Hiyori shrugs. "I like reading," he admits. After they'd come back to Japan, he'd been able to keep up pretty easily with English classes, and had even helped out Ikuya a few times.

"It's more than that," Ikuya says. "You have a knack for reading in general. You always used to read complicated books, too."

"I did it a lot," Hiyori admits.

"You tried to lend me _Night on the Galactic Railroad_ one time," Ikuya says, suddenly. "Do you remember?"

"Oh, that's right, I did." Hiyori blushes a bit at the memory, even now. He'd thought he was so clever, bringing books in Japanese for Ikuya to read while he was recovering because it would be too tiring to read books in English. It hadn't even occurred to him that Ikuya might not be much of a reader in the first place.

"I tried reading it, recently," Ikuya says. "I saw it in a bookstore recently, and it reminded me."

"Oh," Hiyori says. He has a soft spot for that book, still. "What did you think?"

"That you have no right to tell me that you think my book choices are depressing," Ikuya says, with no bite but a bit of friendly ribbing. "The twist to that one is that his friend was _dead the whole time_."

Hiyori chuckles, rueful. "Well. That's true."

"But...well, the descriptions were nice." Ikuya looks up at the blank ceiling, where a screen waits to take them into the night sky. "So, I thought...you know. It's not exactly the same thing, but maybe we have this in common."

Hiyori smiles, his heart pounding a few times in his chest before it settles. He'd thought that Ikuya had chosen this as part of his past, but he'd been thinking about Hiyori, too.

"Maybe we do," he says, and then, "Oh, it's starting," as the lights start to dim.

He and Ikuya lean back in their seats as the announcer's voice starts to play over the speakers, and the screen dims into pinpricks of stars, wheeling over their heads.

It's difficult, not to be caught up in the presentation, the music, the bare-bones explanations of the galaxies and star systems they see zooming by. It's not as complicated as some of the explanations in the exhibits, but it's aimed at all ages, including children. But it's mesmerizing, and Hiyori almost forgets about Ikuya at his side.

Almost.

But halfway through, his gaze drags over, and he sees Ikuya staring up at the stars, mouth slightly open. A small flash from the ceiling above them catches in his eyes, on the curve of his lower lips.

And then Ikuya looks to one side, and his eyes catch Hiyori's. His mouth opens further, curls into a smile.

And Ikuya reaches over to Hiyori's armrest and takes his hand, before returning his eyes to the ceiling.

Suddenly, where before he'd been focusing on the sky, Hiyori feels something else. It had been a little like being in the water, between the pages of a book—being himself, absorbing information and immersing himself in it, with no one to see or judge him.

Suddenly, the words fade out, not as important as what he's seeing, what he's feeling. He's exquisitely aware of himself and of Ikuya next to him, every twitch of his muscles, every breath. It's like he and Ikuya are flying, alone, between the stars.

It's like flying, and it's like swimming, and Hiyori kind of wishes it would go on forever. So he holds onto the moment with all his strength, and as the show begins to wind down, stars wheeling over their heads in a wide pan, he finds himself closing his eyes, trying to hold on to the last few moments.

Beside him, Ikuya's voice startles him out of his reverie. It's halfway back to normal, but still soft, almost reverent. "Did you make a wish?" he asks, sounding faintly amused.

Hiyori blinks over at him. "I suppose I did," he says.

"What was it?"

"People say these things are supposed to stay a secret," Hiyori says, because really, if he'd made a specific wish, he doesn't know.

"They do," Ikuya acknowledges, and gently untangles their hands. Hiyori glances around, trying to figure out if anyone had seen them, but from Ikuya's reassuring look, they didn't.

"This was all I wanted to do here," he says. "Is there anything else you wanted to see?"

"I mean..." Hiyori shrugs. "The gift shop, I suppose? We already saw everything else, I think."

"Yeah." Ikuya stands and waits for Hiyori to do so, too, and Hiyori follows him out of the room and down the stairs to the gift shop on the lobby level.

It's a small one, with the standard fare of hand towels and T-shirts, but there's a few books, too. Hiyori looks these over, but none of them quite catch his interest. 

He browses a little more before settling on a small model telescope, the kind that's also a pencil sharpener.

He looks over the ceiling displays, too, thinking. But he suspects the telescopes mounted there are over-priced for their quality. A gift shop isn't the place to look for an item like that, but...he puts it on a mental list, for someday in the future, perhaps. If Ikuya really likes astronomy that much.

Ikuya had looked through the shop much quicker, and is waiting casually by the front counter when Hiyori finally makes his way through the line. "Cute," Ikuya says, as Hiyori puts the trinket away in his bag. "Do you like to get things like that when you go places?"

"Sometimes," Hiyori says. Then, "Today is special, after all."

Ikuya gives him a long look, but it's warm. Hiyori can almost feel the hand wrapping around his own, even here, in public, just from Ikuya's eyes.

Ikuya glances down at his watch, then looks back at Hiyori. "There's an hour or two before dinner. Anything you'd like to do? I was thinking we could take a walk in the park, but..."

"That sounds great," Hiyori says.

Ikuya nods. "Okay, then," he says, and takes out his phone.

They find the park together and walk around for a while, then find their way to a restaurant that Ikuya picked (Hiyori automatically loves it, but the food is good too) and talk about nothing in particular. It's not so different from when they normally hang out, but at the same time it's completely different. Hiyori's at ease and on-edge at the same time, comfortable and awkward by turns, and he gets the sense that Ikuya is feeling the same way. 

They take the bus home together, Ikuya bumping shoulders with him just a little bit more often than the bumps and turns really justify, like it's a private joke between them. And then they're walking home, and Hiyori's realizing, dimly, that it's over. Even that isn't enough to overpower the electric excitement of Ikuya being beside him, here and now. 

But then they're at the point where they usually part ways, and Ikuya turns to look at him, and Hiyori's heart turns over in his chest. 

_This is it,_ some traitorous part of him says, but he's not quite certain what it's getting at, which makes it even less helpful than it would be otherwise. 

"Thank you for today," Ikuya says, eyes wide and face a little pink under the street lights. "I had fun." 

"I should be saying that to you," Hiyori says. "Thanks for planning this. Today was amazing." He takes a quick breath, and then, before he can lose his nerve, adds, "Can...can we do it again? I'd like to return the favor sometime. Of planning, I mean." 

Ikuya smiles, bright and a little embarrassed. "I'd like that," he says. "Or we can plan the next one together. If you want." 

"Sure," Hiyori says. He's pretty sure his face is pink now, too. "That sounds nice." 

"Okay." The sidewalk is deserted except for the two of them, and Ikuya reaches out and twines their fingers together. "So...good night, I guess." 

"Yeah," Hiyori says, and he hopes his disappointment doesn't show on his face. He's mostly happy—of course he is, he's ecstatic—but he kind of wishes that Ikuya weren't going back to a different apartment, that they'd get to stay together throughout the night, and the next day, and the day after that... 

Ikuya's hands tighten on his, and that's all the warning he gets before Ikuya suddenly leans in close. There's a hint of warm breath and then Ikuya's lips brush his cheek, soft and cold from the winter air. Before Hiyori fully realizes what's happened, Ikuya pulls back, grin wide and face red, and releases his hands, turning and walking away into the night. 

Hiyori stares after him, breath steaming in the night air. He kind of feels like steam might be coming out of his ears, too, his face is so red. 

"Good night," he says, barely audible even to himself. He watches till Ikuya is out of sight, reading wildly into every line of his neck and shoulders, barely sure what he's thinking anymore. 

When Ikuya's finally out of sight, he sighs, pushing his hat backwards out of his face and laughing a little at himself. "Okay, then." 

He goes home, and when he checks his phone before bed, there's a single message from Ikuya: a simple heart, and nothing more. 

Hiyori gets under the covers, and falls asleep with a smile on his face, looking forward to seeing Ikuya again tomorrow, and the next day, and all the days after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand that's the end! 
> 
> This story was a little over a year in the making before I started posting it, and now I'm nine months in and it feels like I only started it a few months ago, if that. If you told me back when I started writing this story that I'd not only write this much and finish this soon, but that all you lovely readers would be following along chapter by chapter, I probably wouldn't have believed it—much less in a year like this one, where so much is scary and uncertain. 
> 
> So much has happened this year, and I'm really lucky that out of all of it, I have one thing that I can absolutely be happy about and proud of. There were times where your kind words turned my whole week around. You've given me so much more confidence in my storytelling than I had previously, and I think it's going to help me a lot as I keep writing. 
> 
> I'll still be around after this, of course! I'm using this NaNoWriMo to write more fic—prompt-based stuff as well as my own ideas about what else this story needs, and I'll probably spread out a little fandom-wise, too. I love your prompts so far, and I'm excited to see what I can make for y'all during NaNo! I've got a couple WIPs that have been languishing for a while, and a few other fandoms that I'd like to play in, but a lot of what I upload in December is probably going to go into this series. There's too many loose ends I'd like to tie up, and a happy ending to enjoy. 
> 
> I can't thank you all enough for following this story through to the end. <3 Thanks so much for reading!


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